Disengaged
by sophie-the-duchess
Summary: To keep her job, Belle pretends to be Gaston's wife. BellexGaston, modern-day AU, rated M for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Anyone who looked at Belle could see how beautiful she was, despite the plain clothes she tended to wear.

On this particular Tuesday in late spring she had dressed herself in a solid blue frock that reached below her knees, overlaid on top with a well-loved beige cardigan that had succumbed to a massive amount of pilling over the years. Her long brown hair was pulled back into a simple low ponytail, and on her makeup-less face she wore a scowl as she squinted at the words splayed across her screen.

 _where is gym colum? do thurssday_

Belle rolled her eyes so hard she thought they'd roll right out of her head. How could a man with such poor spelling and grammatical skills have been given an upper management position at a reputable publishing company in New York? It was anybody's guess.

Of course he had meant that the column titled, "Benchpress THIS: How To Drop The Weights And Pick Up Chicks," about what girls look for in a guy at the gym, was _due_ Thursday– not that she should do it on Thursday.

Her fingers tapped quickly across the keyboard as she punched out a reply.

 _Already done and sent to proofing. Should receive first run on your desk by tomorrow morning._

Of course after proofing was done with the piece, it would be sent on to the design department, and then on to final approval from the editor before ending up in his hands. She clicked the send button.

Within moments, her email pinged again.

 _C me_

Scrunching her nose and forcing down a groan, Belle pushed her chair back from her desk and rose to leave her cubicle, resigning herself to her fate.

–

Passing the break room on her way to his office, Belle tried to tune out the snickers and whispers from her co-workers that were obviously directed at her. One of them, a curvy woman with bottle-blonde hair and an incredibly bright shade of red lipstick, turned the corners of her mouth downward as the younger woman walked by. Her hot pink acrylic nails clicked impatiently on the side of the ceramic coffee mug she was holding.

When she reached the suites of offices at the other end of the floor, Belle grasped the door handle and turned it without knocking, steeling herself as she entered the room.

The decor of his office was tacky, and not at all fitting for such a modern space with floor-to-ceiling views of the harbor. Taxidermied animal heads littered the walls, which lacked a single piece of art, and the bookshelves were devoid of books; instead, they were cluttered with various trophies and awards, both for accolades won by the company for achievements in the publishing industry, and Gaston's own personal hunting accomplishments.

His office was so unlike those of colleagues, but it was most different in one very important aspect: this office lacked a framed diploma anywhere.

His shoulder-length dark hair was slicked back, combed with pomenade behind his ears, and he was wearing a burgundy suit with a white collared shirt with the top few buttons undone. Belle thought the color was a bit too bold for the corporate culture, but then again, everything about Gaston was bold and boisterous. His body was burly and muscular, with wide shoulders and a broad chest. He almost never wore a tie. Belle wondered if it was because he had no taste, or if it was because his neck was too thick. She had been working for him for a little over a year now and she still had yet to figure it out.

"You asked to see me?"

The large man behind the desk glanced up, a sickly sweet grin spreading across his face immediately upon recognizing Belle.

"Ah, Belle!' he crooned in his deep voice, dropping his pen on the desk with a quiet _clack_. He waved her over, but Belle didn't move, eager to keep her distance. Still smiling grotesquely, he narrowed his eyes and interlocked his fingers together underneath his chin.

"Do you know why I've asked you to come here?"

Belle shook her head. She kept her gaze downward, focusing on a hole that was forming on the side of one of the old black ballet flats she was wearing. If she looked up, she was afraid he would notice the abject hatred she held for him in her eyes. Her nerves skittered from the anticipation of their impending discourse.

"You know, if you cleaned up a little then you wouldn't be too hard on the eyes," Gaston purred, diverting from the original point of the conversation– as he usually did.

"Thank you for the backhanded compliment," Belle mumbled. Her body urged her to run far, far away, but she willed her feet to remain glued to the spot. She made a mental note of the location of the nearest trash basket in case she had to vomit.

"It's true," Gaston continued, folding his hands behind his head as he leaned back in his oversized armchair, which was still almost too small for his extra-large frame. The expression on his face indicated that he was exceptionally pleased with himself for what he was saying to her. He liked to think of himself as a never ending spigot of helpful information– even though nobody ever asked him for it. "You're the hottest girl in this office. If only you dressed like it. Showed a little skin every once in awhile."

Belle visibly flinched at his words. She turned her chin up, doing her best to hide the absolute disgust she felt by giving him a look of indifference.

"Gaston, did only you call me here to discuss my appearance?"

Shaking his head, Gaston leaned forward, still smiling. He put his folded hands on the desktop in front of him as if to imply the seriousness of what he was about to say.

"You've made an ingracious error, Belle."

The woman knotted her brows in confusion. "Do you mean… egregious?"

Gaston waved her question away with his hand. Reaching down, he opened one of his desk drawers and pulled out a copy of the latest issue of MEN'S DAY magazine, dropping it on his desk with a _plop_ for emphasis. Belle raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued.

Gaston flipped through the pages, going back and forth a few times to find the correct one, muttering page numbers aloud to himself as he attempted to count them, before finally landing on Belle's article. He jabbed a finger onto the page. With his other hand, he motioned for Belle to come closer. She inched forward one step.

"Right here," Gaston insisted, motioning her forward once more. Biting her lip to mask her annoyance, Belle moved as close to the desk as she dared, leaning down slightly to look at the word he was pointing out on the page.

"Right here," he repeated, smushing the tip of his finger onto the glossy surface of the paper. "In your article about the best meals to cook for a woman to impress her. You wrote, 'The nuances of a woman's appetite can be hard to distinguish.'"

Belle blinked. "I'm not sure I understand. What's the problem?"

Gaston blew out a breath and smoothed his hair back with a hand. "Even though we all know it's true, you can't just outright call women _annoying_ in an article."

"Excuse me?"

"The word 'nuances.' It means that someone is annoying. You have to be more subtle, Belle." He gave her a false sympathetic pout. "We all make mistakes. I'll cover for you this time, but make sure it doesn't happen again."

Frustrated, Belle waved her hands. "Wait, wait. I'm not sure I'm following. Are you trying to tell me that you think the word 'nuances' means that someone is 'bothersome'?"

Then the lightbulb clicked on inside her mind and Belle let out a laugh.

"Oh! You're thinking of 'nuisance.' _Nuisances_. Not _nuances_."

Gaston shook his head and sighed dramatically. He gave her a look of pity. "No, Belle, that's not what I mean. Look, you have a very lucrative position here. Writing the advice column for MEN'S DAY is a real honor, and a _privilege_. You know how many girls would die to be in your shoes? To help millions of men– _and_ women, by proxy– by writing dating tips and tricks for men from a _woman's perspective?_ You gotta do better than this."

When he finished his little speech, he grinned once more at her, his smugness practically radiating off of him in tangible waves. If Belle's jaw fell open any further, it would hit the ground. She was at a loss for words to say.

"Maybe I can overlook this little… _misstep…_ if you agree to dinner with me," Gaston wiggled his eyebrows, and Belle noticed the not-so-subtle way his perverse gaze traced lazily down her body. He licked his lips. "Let's say tonight at eight? And if things go well– which they _will–_ we can have dessert at my place."

Anger bubbled in Belle's stomach at his proposition. She wanted to scream "no" until her throat burst from the exertion. Her heart palpitated from the stress of holding it in. Her hands shook.

Gaston only smirked as he watched her face flush with scarlet. Getting her riled up was one of his favorite pastimes. She was so _sexy_ when she got all hot and bothered by him.

"I have plans," Belle spit out quickly, turning on her heel and exiting the room as briskly as she could.


	2. Chapter 2

The rest of the day passed, thankfully, without incident, nor another peep from Gaston.

As Belle was packing up her things to leave for the evening, a figure appeared in the entrance to her cubicle, her pink-tipped fingers tapping impatiently on her hip. When Belle didn't even bother to address the newcomer, the blonde woman cleared her throat to get the other woman's attention.

Belle glanced up. "Oh, Paulette. It's just you."

The mentioned woman scoffed, insulted. " _Just_ me?"

"I only meant that your sister somehow detached herself from your hip," Belle replied nonchalantly. She hated office drama. Yet the twins always insisted on trying to drag her into it– as Paulette was no doubt doing now.

"Oh, yes. Claudette had plans so she left a bit early," Paulette hummed, inspecting her fingernails. They gleamed in the fluorescent light. "Do _you_ have any plans tonight?"

Paulette knew for a fact that Belle had no plans, but that was the point: to rub it in her face. Belle simply shook her head.

"That's too bad," the older woman mused in a mocking tone. "I have plans. Don't you want to know with who? You'll never guess."

"With whom," Belle replied, turning her back to the woman to continue stuffing her books and papers in her bag.

"What?" Paulette squeaked in confusion.

Belle sighed, keeping her back turned. "You're supposed to say 'with whom.' Don't I want to know _with whom_ you have plans?"

Paulette shook her head, almost violently. "God, you're such a nerd."

Belle shrugged. The casual insults didn't hurt her like they used to when she had first started the job.

"Anyway, Gaston and I are grabbing dinner at his favorite place the West Village. It's really fancy. And expensive. And _romantic_."

When Belle didn't react, Paulette pressed further. "I probably won't end up making it home tonight. If you know what I mean."

Again, Belle didn't give her the satisfaction of a response. With a huff, Paulette grabbed the back of Belle's chair and swiveled it around, forcing Belle to face her. The brown-haired woman's eyes went wide at the surprise turn this interaction was taking.

"I know he called you into his office today," Paulette snarled. Her jealousy was obvious. It was quite unbecoming.

Belle snorted. "Yeah, to talk about work."

"He doesn't want you, you know," the blonde continued. Her voice was a warning, yet it still wavered slightly with her underlying insecurity. "Why would he ever want a _freak_ like you when he can have a woman like _me_?"

Belle inhaled deeply and expelled it just as forcefully, nodding her head in sarcastic agreement. _Good question,_ she thought. Since her first week at the company Gaston had pestered her with weekly, if not daily, propositions. Visions of all the times he had asked her to dinner or aggressively hit on her swam through her head, but Belle didn't have the patience nor emotional investment to fight with this woman over a man she wasn't even remotely attracted to, and who by all means was actually a righteous pain in her ass who she only tolerated to keep her job.

"You're right, Paulette. You're absolutely right."

Still not satisfied with the lackluster reactions she was prodding out of Belle, Paulette straightened up, pursing her lips. The dissatisfaction was evident on her face and Belle couldn't help but find a smug solace in her defeated expression.

"I know I'm right."

"Great! Now that _that's_ settled," Belle stood up from her seat, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "I'm going to head home."

Realizing at last that her efforts at trying to rustle Belle were fruitless, Paulette stepped out of the way to allow Belle to pass.

"Have a good time on your date," the brunette offered as she scooted past, leaving a disappointed Paulette behind without looking back.

–

The subway ride home was long and uncomfortable, yet Belle still found herself dozing off once or twice. She had the strap of her bag wrapped around her wrist to protect it from anyone who may be tempted to snatch it while she rested her eyes. The contents inside weren't really worth much money, but they were incredibly valuable to Belle.

When she reached the modest two-bedroom apartment she shared with her father in Queens, turning the key in the lock with a soft _click_ , the sky was already dark outside. Her father sat at the kitchen table in semi-darkness, hunched over a binder full of technical drawings, the only light illuminating the tiny space emanating from a metal desk lamp that looked like it was straight out of a police department in a 1970s crime drama.

"Hi, Papa," Belle greeted as she entered, careful to lock the door knob behind her, sliding the deadbolt into place as an extra precaution. "How was the convention?"

When he didn't respond immediately, Belle moved to the kitchen area to set her bag down and began rummaging through the cupboards. She pulled out all the ingredients needed to make herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

"I'm making a sandwich, Papa, do you want one?"

As if snapping out of a stupor, the elderly man coughed. "Huh? Oh, yes, yes. Please, dear. Thank you."

Belle fixed them a couple plates and carried them over to the table, taking the seat beside her father.

"How was the convention?" she asked again.

Her father coughed again. "It went very well. _Very_ well, in fact. But tomorrow is the big day."

Belle took a healthy bite of her sandwich and perused the scattered papers littering the tabletop while she chewed.

"Tomorrow you go in front of the board, right?" Belle asked. "To see if you get approved for funding?"

Her father nodded recklessly, his bespectacled eyes trained on the papers in front of him. As an ex-professor for New York University, Maurice definitely still dressed like an academic, with his brown tweed coat, baggy slacks, and sensible shoes. Belle supposed that's where she got her own sense of style from.

His latest attempt at getting a tech startup off the ground had a lot riding on it. Maurice had invested nearly all of their savings into it, as most investors had been wary of her father's radical concept and shied away from shelling out any money. Bills had been especially tight as of late, but they managed to get by with Belle's steady income, and if he managed to seal the deal on this grant from the board then both of their lives were guaranteed to change for the better forever. Belle could finally quit her horrid job and dedicate herself to writing full-time, something she had wanted to do since she herself had graduated from NYU with a degree in literature over two miserable years ago. It had been nothing but hard work and long days for her since then, with very little time to even attempt to have a social life. Dating had been nearly out of the question as well. Her last date ended disastrously, and the relationship that had preceded that brief foray into the dating world had ended with even more disastrous results.

That had been nearly six months ago, and her life had consisted of nothing but work since then. Having more time to focus on publishing her own novels was her dream, and now it seemed to be so close to becoming a reality.

Deciding not to disturb him further, Belle finished her sandwich and rose from the table, giving her father a kiss on the forehead.

"Don't stay up too late," she scolded lovingly, scooting his untouched sandwich toward him.

"Goodnight, dear," he mumbled, too engrossed in his work to eat.

All Belle wanted before bed was a hot shower, but the water sputtered from the inconsistent pressure and the temperature jumped between freezing and what could barely be described as lukewarm. The amount they paid to live in such an ancient, rundown building with such meager amenities was a joke. It was the cost of living in the city, and Belle and her father unfortunately had little choice but to deal with it, as shitty as it was.

After she had brushed and braided her hair and dressed for bed, Belle clicked on her bedside lamp to cast her small bedroom in a soft, yellow glow. She had modest furnishings, consisting of only a mattress on a creaky cast iron frame, an oak nightstand, and a tall, weathered dresser with floral knobs that had been dinged and dented from being moved one too many times– her father called it "vintage chic." Anyone else would call it garbage, but Belle had to agree with her father; she was charmed by the rustic, old-world style of her belongings. Although from time to time she did daydream of modern marble countertops and extravagant IKEA storage solutions.

Belle slid under her covers to get comfortable before reaching to pick up her book from her nightstand. She had already read it twice before, but it was one of her favorites. A little reading before bed was her nightly routine, one of the few moments she got to herself to immerse herself in an existence different than her own.

She flipped to the last page she had marked and settled in to read. Her eyes scanned the text printed on the page hungrily as a contented smile played across her rosy lips, blissfully oblivious to the sounds of a couple fighting in the apartment next door and a car alarm that had begun wailing outside her window, causing the neighborhood dogs to bark and howl along with it.

–

 **Sorry we're starting off kinda slow! Just had to set some things up for the next chapter. ;)**


	3. Chapter 3

Wednesday morning started like any other morning. Belle awoke early to catch the subway to Manhattan. When she arrived at the highrise her company was situated in, she went straight to the crowded elevator and punched the button for the 30th floor.

Paulette had made an extra effort that morning to look disheveled in her creased lime green sheath dress as she steeped her mug of tea, excitedly telling anyone who would listen about her date with Gaston. Her messy blonde hair was piled atop her head, and when Belle entered the break room the older woman sneered at her, smacking her mauve-colored lips in disdain. As Belle poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot, Paulette made sure she overheard her unpleasant remarks about Belle's outfit, calling it akin to looking like "an Anthropologie resale threw up on her." Belle considered it a compliment; normally Paulette asked her directly if the Salvation Army offered her a discount whenever she purchased her clothes.

Belle looked down at her outfit as she sipped her coffee on the way back to her cubicle. She had pulled out a high-waisted, denim pencil skirt that hit above her knees from the depths of her closet in anticipation of the unusually warm day in April. It was from her college days, and although now a bit more snug than it once was, Belle was pleased to find that it still fit. Her tucked-in top was a plain, cap-sleeved ivory blouse that she had purchased on sale from Kohl's for her first job interview years ago, and on her feet she wore the same black flats she wore everyday. They were definitely starting to show signs of wear, the cheap material fraying at the edges and peeling off completely in places, but they were so broken in that they were the most comfortable shoes that Belle owned. Instead of pulling back her hair in a low ponytail, Belle had opted for a low bun instead.

Overall, she thought she looked pretty decent. Not that what she wore to work mattered anymore: today, her fortunes would change. She found herself glancing at her phone more frequently than usual, eagerly awaiting the call from her father that would cement their comfortable future.

Belle had nearly made it to her lunch hour without being disturbed when Gaston's assistant, LeFou, approached her cubicle. LeFou wasn't his actual name; it had been a rather cruel nickname imprinted upon him at some point, but people used it so frequently that Belle honestly didn't know the man's real name. She never bothered to ask.

He was short– _extremely_ short– and pudgy. He wasn't at all handsome nor endearing, with greasy black hair, gap teeth, and a bulbous nose, and Belle probably wouldn't have even noticed his arrival if he hadn't dropped a heavy stack of papers on her desk with a deafening _thud_ that caused her to jump in her seat.

"Gaston wants these xeroxed by noon."

Belle cocked her head at the small man. "Isn't that _your_ job?"

"Can't reach the copier," LeFou shrugged, waddling off without another word.

With a sigh, Belle stood, hoisting the heavy stack up from her desk with both hands to lug it to the copyroom.

–

Despite somewhat enjoying the brief reprise from her cubicle, Belle found the task of making copies incredibly boring. The repetitive action of feeding paper into the machine, then retrieving the paper that it spit out at the other end made her sleepy, despite the coffee she drank earlier.

She heard someone walk into the room behind her, and ignored whoever it was, continuing her business. Belle was never one for small talk. She didn't make "friends" at work, with the exception of Mrs. Potts, the kindly cart lady who sometimes wheeled through the building with a dolly full of pre-made lunches for purchase. Belle always made an effort to ask her how her grandson Chip was doing, and the elderly woman was always grateful for someone to talk to.

Suddenly, Belle become acutely aware of a body standing directly behind her. She didn't have to turn around to know who it was.

"Belle." His deep voice boomed from over her shoulder. "I'm afraid I've been thinking."

The woman he addressed by name raised an eyebrow, although he couldn't see it. She felt her throat go tight with the awareness of his unwanted proximity to her person.

"A dangerous pastime," she replied sarcastically.

Gaston chuckled in response. "I've been thinking that it's about time we take care of this little _thing_ between us."

"What thing?"

"This…" Gaston leaned forward so that his breath tickled the back of her neck. "... _tension_. What do you say?"

Bile bubbled up in Belle's esophagus.

"I don't know _what_ to say. I–I'm speechless, Gaston. Really."

To Belle's utter shock and immediate disgust, Gaston did the unthinkable: he reached forward and cupped her bottom in one of his large palms, squeezing lightly, leaning against the copy machine with his other hand. Belle felt herself go rigid with anger.

"Imagine my luck finding you all alone in the copy room at a time like this. Everyone's gone to lunch," he whispered in her ear, causing every hair on Belle's body to stand on end, as he continued to rub her behind to show his appreciation for the skirt she had chosen to wear today. Belle swore she would burn it as soon as she got home. "No one will disturb us here."

Belle whipped around to face him. She didn't bother to hide the displeasure plastered across her features. Finding herself pinned to the copy machine by Gaston's arm along her side, Belle felt as though her heart might beat right through her ribcage.

"Gaston, no," she said as firmly as she could, but Gaston misinterpreted the frightened tremble in her voice for desire.

The brunette-haired woman swallowed a lump as she realized that he was leaning forward. Closer to her.

 _Oh, God._ He was going to kiss her.

In a panic, Belle pushed her way out of Gaston's arms in a mad dash to get away from him. This caused Gaston to lose his balance, and as a fairly top-heavy man, he couldn't regain his footing. In seconds he was stumbling, falling forward, roughly landing face first into the copy machine with a _crash_. The sudden jostle of his weight against the copier caused the lid to slam closed on Gaston's head, holding him prisoner inside the machine. His uncoordinated hands mashed the buttons on the front in an attempt to free himself, and soon enough copier was whirring and flashing, spitting out black-and-white xeroxes of Gaston's likeness pressed against the glass in a horrified expression.

A small crowd quickly formed just outside the copy room, attracted by the noise, whispering and gasping at the sight that greeted them. When they saw the vision of a frantic Gaston struggling to free himself from a piece of office equipment, and a very guilty-looking Belle standing nearby with her hands pressed to her mouth, they immediately pieced together their own version of events.

A roar erupted amongst the onlookers as a wave of laughter rippled through the group.

"Way to go, Belle!" someone shouted, and suddenly the group was laughing even harder.

Belle felt the blood drain from her face. She moved both pale hands to either side of her forehead, simultaneously amused and horrified, unable to move or attempt to help. Dozens of copies of Gaston's face piled at her feet, projected to the floor by the force of the copy machine.

Minutes passed that felt like hours before LeFou arrived on the scene with a screech, hurriedly jumping up to free his boss. It took him a couple tries due to his stature, which only caused the group to hoot and holler even louder.

Then all at once, Gaston was freed. He bolted upright, flaring his nostrils like an enraged bull, staring down the group with an intensity that few of them had ever seen before. The collective went quiet instantaneously. Even Belle felt the dread of what was about to happen next all the way down to her toes. His face was beet red, the veins is his neck bulging from exertion, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. His breathing was labored, and his chest lifted and sank repeatedly from the effort. There was a fresh rip in the shoulder of his khaki suit coat.

In a flash, Gaston put his fist through the wall beside him. Chunks of chalky plaster clattered to the floor.

"Back to work!" he shouted to the crowd.

The members of the group dispersed, scattering hurriedly in different directions. A few people moved away from the copy room but floated nearby, eager to witness the fallout with Belle.

Gaston turned to Belle, too unnaturally slowly to be comfortable, jerkily pulling his bloodied fist from the wall. His eyes were narrow with rage, but Belle also noticed a hint of something darker. The usually very chatty, very boastful Gaston, for once, had very few words.

"Get out," he seethed. "Your employment here is terminated. Effective _now_."

Bewildered, Belle scurried past Gaston, nearly tripping in her haste to leave. She grabbed her bag on the way to the elevators across the floor, unable to ignore the stares of her co-workers as she walked through, her head low.

Blinking back tears, Belle punched the button for the elevator, daring to glance back once at Gaston, who stood watching her from just outside the copy room with his arms crossed.

Gaston had humiliated her. She had humiliated him back– as he deserved– and although it was an accident, it had cost her her job. The elevator was taking too long, and Belle felt the burn of embarrassment sting her cheeks. She knew that people were staring. She knew that _he_ was still watching her. Rather than wait any longer, she committed herself to taking 30 flights of stairs down, disappearing through the stairwell door as her tears began to fall.

–

Belle spent the next hour in a daze, passing the time on a bench in Central Park, watching life go by but focusing on nothing.

She had always wanted to quit her job, but she never in her wildest dreams ever imagined being _fired_.

Belle thought of the way Gaston had grabbed her behind and her stomach lurched. She would have easily found him handsome and desirable, as many other women did, if he wasn't always so inappropriate– in more than one meaning of the word.

Maybe it was for the best. With her father's startup, they'd live comfortably, even if she wasn't working a full-time job. And if she had to find another job, at least she'd have time. And there was a solid chance that her next boss wouldn't be such a rude, conceited dick. The idea lifted Belle's spirits a little.

A homeless man across the way watched the brown-haired woman with mild curiosity as she fiddled with her phone, debating whether or not she should call her father. She still hadn't heard word of the outcome of his meeting with the board.

At long last Belle sighed and stood, deciding to head home for the day.

–

When Belle got to her apartment, she was surprised to find the front door already unlocked.

 _Did I forget to lock it this morning?_ she wondered to herself as she walked over the threshold, her eyes immediately falling on the figure sitting at the kitchen table.

"Papa?" She uttered in shock, hurrying over to his side. "Papa, why are you home? It's the middle of the day."

Maurice turned his weary eyes to his daughter. They were tired looking and rimmed with red, as if he had been crying. A rock fell to the pit of Belle's stomach.

She didn't even have to ask to know that the board had denied his request for funds.

"Oh, Papa…"

Belle leaned down and hugged her father. He shook his head softly.

"The money… it's all gone…"

He patted his daughter's hand on his shoulder and heaved a deep sigh.

"We'll be alright," he said. "It'll be tight for a while, but at least with your income we can still pay the bills."

Belle thought she might be ill. She hadn't even thought that there was ever a chance his startup would fall though. She had too much faith in her father.

"Papa, I… I…" Belle struggled to find the words before she finally spit them out: "I got fired today, Papa."

Maurice's eyebrows rose pitifully at his daughter's confession and he sat up a little straighter in his chair.

"Oh, my child," he whimpered, the slight hint of an old-world accent coming out through the emotion in his voice. He cupped her cheek with his hand and Belle leaned into it gratefully.

"Are you alright?"

Belle waved off his concern. "I'm fine."

A silence passed between them, each wondering what would become of them now. With their savings gone and without Belle's job, they'd be out on the street in less than a month.

Belle knew she had no choice: she had to go back to Gaston and beg for her job back.

–

 **Thank you all for the reviews, they really keep me inspired to keep going! If you're following any of my other current fics, especially The Name Of The Game, I promise I am working on them and updates are coming soon! :-)**


	4. Chapter 4

The whispers and stares were more intense than when she was employed when Belle walked into the office the following morning. Even Paulette made a show of pointing out to Belle that she no longer belonged there as she made her way to Gaston's office.

Inhaling a breath to steady her nerves, Belle pushed the heavy wooden door open with purpose and willed herself to go inside.

Gaston was in his charcoal gray suit today, with a silver shirt underneath, and to Belle's surprise he was wearing a black tie to complete the ensemble. His hair was pulled back into a clean ponytail and his face was freshly shaved. She figured he was trying look more professional than usual in an attempt to save face in light of yesterday's humiliation.

He was leaning back in his chair with his Italian leather-clad feet propped up on his desk, perusing the middle pages of the first run of this month's issue of MEN'S DAY. When the door clicked shut behind Belle he looked up over the top of his reading at the source of the noise, a deep scowl immediately dampening his angular features.

"Here to apologize?" he scoffed with a dramatic rattle of his head. "Or do I need to call security to throw you out?"

Belle shook her head nervously, timidly fingering the end of her ponytail, and the sudden realization of the reason for her unexpected visit dawned across his face. His mouth burst into a mischievous grin.

"Ah, _Belle_ ," he purred, lowering the magazine to his lap. "I knew you'd come crawling back to me."

Belle sighed with a visible rise and fall of her shoulders and swallowed hard to keep her breakfast from resurfacing. "I'm here to ask for my job back."

His smug smile spreading even wider, Gaston tossed the magazine to the desktop and got up from his chair, moving around the large desk to lean against its front, facing Belle. With a cocky chuckle, he crossed his bulging arms over his chest. Belle could practically hear the seams of his tailored suit screaming against the strain of fabric.

"And why should I give you your job back?"

Belle smoothed the front of her long-sleeved navy dress, forcing herself to meet Gaston's stare and appear confident. She inwardly cursed herself for not wearing better shoes.

"What transpired yesterday was… unfortunate," Belle began, carefully picking her words and keeping her tone inoffensive. "But other than that little– erm, _hiccup–_ I'm a good employee. I always arrive on time, I meet all my deadlines, my work is impeccable, I–"

Belle was cut off by Gaston's loud, exaggerated yawn. Her eyelids inadvertently fluttered in annoyance at being interrupted so harshly.

"If _that's_ you trying to convince me, then the answer is no," Gaston said, obviously uninspired. "There's millions of other writers just like you who would _kill_ for this job. I could pick anyone else to take your place."

Gaston seemed to think for a few moments, seemingly reconsidering. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Actually, Belle, this may be your lucky day."

He chuckled and Belle felt a sense of dread at what was coming next.

"You can have your job back. If…"

Belle raised her eyebrows in anticipation. "If?"

"If… you marry me."

A bolt of pure adrenaline shot down through Belle's body and she felt as though she may be sick at any moment.

Thinking she had not heard him correctly, Belle cleared her throat and shook her head before speaking again.

"I'm sorry… if I do _what?_ "

"Marry me," Gaston repeated, beaming from ear to ear. "Or, at least, pretend to anyway."

Belle blinked slowly, the gears of comprehension turning in her head, mulling over his words. "I'm not sure I understand…"

Surprisingly casually– considering the proposition that he had just spit out of his mouth– Gaston unfolded his arms and straightened up, taking a step towards Belle. She, in turn, took an instinctive step back.

"You see, Belle, I've got a hunting lodge upstate," Gaston started, taking another step forward. Belle moved back once more as he advanced. "There's a pretty exclusive hunting club up there. I've been trying to join for years, but…"

Belle let out a gasp when her back hit the wall. Gaston continued towards her as he spoke.

"They're pretty traditional. Old money and all that. They like a gentleman. A family man. I have the money, but I don't have the…"

"Manners?" Belle asked sarcastically as Gaston sized her up with his eyes; she felt her face burn at his unwanted attentions.

"... arm candy."

The bulky man put either hand flat on the wall behind Belle when he reached her, enjoying the way she squirmed as he trapped her.

"Be my date to their annual Spring Ball this weekend. Pretend to be my wife. Help me get into the good graces of the members of the club, and then you can resume working here."

Spend an entire weekend pretending to be married to Gaston? Belle would rather join a convent and be celibate for the rest of her days.

"P-please, Gaston," Belle managed to stammer, hating the pleading whine dripping into her voice. "Can't I just have my job back?"

"You can…" Gaston leaned closer to hiss in her ear. "If you say you'll marry me."

Gaston pulled back slightly to look at her face, waggling his eyebrows.

"Isn't there _any_ other way?"

"Well, I guess there is one other way…" Gaston mumbled, moving his hands down to grip her hips. Before Belle could wiggle out of his grasp he pressed his front against hers, pushing her even further against the wall.

Fed up, Belle shoved him off of her and reached her hand back before slinging it forward, connecting with the side of Gaston's face with a _smack_.

"You're a pig," she bit out. The words felt hot as they left her tongue, matching the burning sting of her palm. Although Belle tended to keep to herself and rarely said a negative word about anyone, she was anything but meek. Gaston had simply pushed her too far. Much, _much_ too far.

Only minimally fazed, Gaston rubbed the tender spot on his jaw and eyed the young woman dangerously.

"My offer still stands. Be my wife, or be unemployed. Your choice."

With a frustrated shriek, Belle turned and practically ran from his office.

–

The digital alarm clock on the bedside table blinked _12:48_. Belle laid on her bed in the total darkness of her room, having lain like that with the curtains drawn since she arrived home hours earlier.

Reaching over, Belle felt around until her hands closed around her phone, clicking the button to bring the device to life. The bright white of the screen stung her sore eyes and she winced.

She'd never used his personal number for anything before, but now was as good a time as any.

Opening a new text message, Belle punched the keys that corresponded to the letters she needed to type. Her message was straight to the point.

 _Offer accepted._

She wasn't sure if he was awake. Hell, she wasn't even sure if the offer was still available. Almost immediately, her phone chimed, a new message appearing on the screen.

 _i knew u wuld come 2 ur senses. we leave tomorow strait from the office_

It pained her to read his typing; his language skills were positively primeval. Rolling her eyes, Belle was about to set her phone back down when it buzzed again.

 _bring sumthing nice 2 wear ;-)_

It took all of Belle's might to not pitch her cell across the room right then and there. Huffing, Belle dropped the phone on her nightstand before rolling over, gripping her blankets tightly around herself, squeezing her eyes shut and willing sleep to come before she thought about Gaston any further.


	5. Chapter 5

Belle sat on a bench outside the building, watching with nervous interest as the first wave of people left work for the week. It was four o'clock on Friday. Day traders were beginning to filter out after the closing bell, while all other kind of working folk followed suit. Belle didn't mind waiting; the more time she had away from Gaston, the better. Thankfully the sky was clear and sunny, and the breeze had a hint of warmth to it, making for an enjoyable day despite the circumstances.

A ratty gray duffel bag, packed with only the essentials she thought she'd need for the weekend, sat on the ground next to Belle's feet, on which she wore a pair of off-white gym trainers from her high school days. She tapped her fingers on her knees anxiously.

"It's only two nights and two days," Belle kept chanting out loud to herself, ignoring the strange looks people gave her as they walked past. "Only two days and two nights. You can do this."

Feeling anything but reassured, Belle let out a whoosh of air from her lungs and ran a frazzled hand over her braided hair. She had dressed comfortably for the impending trip upstate, pairing her indigo-blue flare jeans with her white collegiate sweatshirt that had "NYU" emblazoned across the front in purple lettering.

She rubbed her eyes sleepily and yawned. Her eyesight felt tender, slightly sore from exhaustion, as her sleep the previous night had been fitful– constantly interrupted by unnerving dreams of Gaston. Reading a romance novel before bed may not have been the best idea.

Suddenly, a sleek, inky sports car with tinted windows zoomed into view from down the street, stopping abruptly in front of where Belle was sitting with a honk. Unsure of herself, she stood and glanced around, hooking her arm though the strap of her bag, almost wishing that someone would stop her. Breathing in, Belle walked to the car and opened the back door, forcing herself to sit before she changed her mind.

–

The majority of the ride out of the city was relatively uneventful. Belle had been prepared for the worst, assuming that Gaston was just as talkative and invasive as he was at work even outside of the office. She was thankful to be left to her thoughts in silence while he drove.

A little over an hour into the trip, Belle pulled out a book to read, and passed the time reading until the mountains started to come into view, oblivious to the puzzled looks Gaston gave her in the rear-view mirror.

After a while, Gaston could no longer contain himself, and he snorted out loud, causing Belle to look up.

"How can you read that?" he asked, his tone condescending. "There's no pictures."

Belle rolled her eyes back down to her book to continue reading, shaking her head lightly.

"Some people like to read things with a bit more substance than lifestyle magazines," she replied back flippantly, turning a page.

Bored, Gaston _harrumphed_ and turned his focus back to the road.

–

Gaston pulled the car up to the front of the house with a screech and a spray of gravel, causing Belle to jerk awake in her seat.

"We're here," Gaston sing-songed, slamming his car door and walking up to the front of the cabin without so much as opening Belle's car door or offering to carry her bag. Typical Gaston.

Belle stepped out of the car and stretched her stiff limbs as she took a moment to acquaint herself with her surroundings. When Gaston had mentioned his "hunting lodge," she had pictured a quaint little cottage, with maybe just enough room to comfortably house a person or two.

This lodge was easily double– if not triple– the size of an average family of four's primary residence.

The building was old but well-kept, looking as though it was at least a hundred years old but possibly renovated at some point in the past few decades. The cedar facade of the Victorian-style chalet was punctuated by numerous tall and wide windows, allowing for lots of natural light and scenic views of the mountains and forests surrounding the property. It had two floors and possibly a third, and if Belle had to guess it probably had enough rooms for a dozen people. Belle and her father had lived in a house at one point years ago, when her mother was still alive, but even that house would have been cramped with any more than just the three of them. It was shocking to see a lodge so big and luxurious being used simply as a weekend getaway– from Belle's modest perspective, it seemed to be an extravagant waste.

When she realized that Gaston had disappeared inside, she followed after him.

As if the outside hadn't been enough to convince Belle that Gaston's hunting lodge was a castle, the interior sealed the deal.

The front door opened into a large foyer with cathedral ceilings. The walls, floors, and ceilings were all made of planks of polished wood, and the entire place was cluttered with antique furniture and rustic decor typical of a cabin in the mountains. To her left, off of the main hall, Belle could see a dining room with gilded velvet chairs. She strained her neck to see further, but was interrupted by Gaston clearing his throat from where he stood, already halfway up the stairs. She picked up her pace to catch up to him.

On the second floor they passed a number of closed doors; Belle assumed they were bedrooms. She counted seven of them in total. Halfway down the hall, however, they passed a set of stairs almost as magnificent as the first. She couldn't withhold her curiosity.

"Where does this lead?" Belle inquired, stopping in front of the staircase. She gripped the banister and raised a foot as if to ascend, but was stopped abruptly by Gaston's hand wrapped around her wrist.

"That leads to my rooms," Gaston growled, his voice a warning. He released her hand. "You are _never_ to go up there. Got it?"

Belle hastily nodded her acquiescence. Her face warmed in reaction to his touch.

"Good. Follow me."

Gaston showed Belle to her own room on the far side of the second floor. It was small, with a single window, and had no closet. In the original floor plan it may have been designated as a den or office, but now it was a bedroom with only a twin-sized cot and a wooden dresser. On the floor was a vintage Persian rug, and a single set of deer antlers hung above the chest of drawers.

"You will join me for dinner," Gaston commanded, the bite in his voice evidence of his lingering resentment towards Belle for Wednesday's incident. He must've taken a bigger blow to his ego than Belle originally thought. "That's not a request."

And with that, he was gone. Belle quickly closed and locked the door before he could return to invade her privacy. Relieved, she exhaled a breath of relief and threw herself on the bed, bag and all, staring at the ceiling as she allowed herself to relax.

"It's only two days and two nights," Belle murmured to herself, her eyes sagging closed with sleepiness. "Only two days and two nights…"

–

 **Another transitional chapter– I promise the next one will be fun. And thank you all for your reviews and constructive criticism, I really appreciate it more than you know!**


	6. Chapter 6

Belle was startled awake by a series of heavy knocks on the door. She jolted upright in the bed, realizing that she had fallen asleep. The room was dark, and when she glanced at the window she could see the blackened treeline silhouetted against the orange-gray sky of twilight.

The angry knocking continued. It sounded like Gaston was pounding his fist as hard as he could against the wood. The volume was frighteningly loud and it made Belle tremble.

"Y-yes?" she called out, swallowing back the grogginess in her voice.

Gaston's voice boomed from the other side. "Dinner is ready."

Dinner with Gaston. _Alone_ with Gaston, she presumed. Belle gagged.

"I'm not hungry," she yelled back. "Go ahead and eat without me."

Belle heard Gaston groan in exasperation before speaking. "I told you that you would be _joining_ me, Belle."

"You can't force me to eat."

The doorknob jiggled.

"You locked the door."

"I did."

"Let me in."

"No!"

"Fine!" Gaston shouted. "Go ahead and _starve_."

Usually Belle was the one who was frustrated by Gaston, and not the other way around. She was beginning to see why he got such a kick out of getting her all riled up. She stifled a giggle.

There was silence for a moment, as if Gaston was hesitating to say something further, but then Belle heard the sound of his footsteps disappearing down the hall.

" _Women_ ," Gaston hissed under his breath as he trudged away from the door.

"Ugh, _men_ ," Belle muttered, clutching a pillow to her stomach.

–

Hours passed before Belle felt brave enough to leave her room. It was nearly midnight when she cracked her door open and peeked out into the hallway, looking for any sign of Gaston. Every light was on, including the mini chandeliers that hung from the ceiling every few feet, the long hallway awash in bright, golden light.

When Belle felt sure that the coast was clear, she tiptoed out, still wearing her NYU sweatshirt and jeans, quietly closing the door to her room behind her. She made her way to the top of the stairs and paused, listening. She hesitated only briefly, the grumbling of her stomach propelling her forward.

She wandered the first floor for ten minutes before she finally found the way to the kitchen. Gaston was nowhere to be seen– not that she particularly cared. She was grateful to have him out of her hair for a few hours.

Upon entering the massive kitchen, Belle's eyes swept across the exquisite marble countertops and dark cherry cabinetry before landing on the enormous stainless steel refrigerator. Curious, Belle walked over to it and opened the double doors wide, peering at the contents inside in awe. The fridge was fully stocked with a myriad of meats, fresh fruits and vegetables, condiments, and beverages. Belle guessed that if she wanted to cook any specific dish, everything and anything she could possibly need for that dish was here at her disposal.

Deciding on something simple, Belle grabbed some sliced ham and a block of cheese from the fridge, setting it on the island behind her. She rummaged through the cabinets and drawers for a plate and a knife, and found a baker's rack against the far wall with a half dozen loaves of fresh bread to choose from.

"Little miss," a frail voice whispered from the doorway. Startled, Belle dropped the knife she was holding and it clattered to the floor with a metallic _clang_.

An elderly man stood at the entry to the kitchen, dressed in periwinkle and white striped pajamas and a navy blue robe. His thin, graying hair that fell this way and that in wisps reminded Belle of her father, but unlike her father this man was tall and narrow. His milky hazel eyes seemed full of mirth at the sight of Belle.

"Who are you?" Belle asked, surprised at seeing someone else in the house besides herself and Gaston.

The man's thin lips cracked into a proud grin. "I am the groundskeeper here at the estate."

He thought for a moment.

"And the housekeeper. And the butler. And the chef."

"Please don't tell Gaston I left my room," Belle pleaded. The man waved off her fears dismissively.

"Master Gaston left for the tavern some hours ago. He will not return until late."

The man hobbled forward.

"Please, allow me to cook you a proper meal, miss. You must be absolutely famished. I'm afraid my skills may be a bit rusty, however– it's been so long since we've had a guest," the old man mused sadly.

Belle nodded, still wary, but she did feel slightly more at ease with this man. He seemed genuinely excited to have someone to speak to who wasn't Gaston. She couldn't help but pity him. It must be so dreadfully boring to be Gaston's servant. She couldn't imagine that Gaston was ever one for chatting or entertaining or having friends over– if he even had any friends to begin with.

It would be nice for Belle to have a friend while she was imprisoned here for the weekend, anyway.

"I'm Belle," Belle introduced, offering him a smile. "What is your name?"

"No need for all that, miss. You may just call me Monsieur," the man beamed back at her, taking a slight bow. "As you are a guest of the Master, I am at your disposal for the duration of your stay."

–

The Chicken à la King that Monsieur whipped up for Belle had been the perfect comfort food, leaving her sated and full. She had dismissed him to bed shortly after one o'clock, insisting that he needn't stay up any later for her. Grateful, the old man bowed out and returned to his chambers for the remainder of the night.

Despite the food weighing heavy in her belly, Belle felt rather awake. Monsieur had said that Gaston wouldn't be returning until much later, around four o'clock, and so the ever-curious Belle took the opportunity to explore the mansion while he was away.

In her exploration, Belle found the luxurious dining room, a sitting room, a smoking room, and even a fitness room, with modern workout equipment and floor-to-ceiling windows facing the back of the house, overlooking a perfect view of the valley below.

She found only one of the doors on the main floor to be locked. Belle crouched down to look through the keyhole, eager to discover what was inside, but the room was dark and she couldn't see anything.

Inspired, an idea popped into her head: Was Gaston's room locked?

How did Gaston the man truly live? She was suddenly very intrigued by the idea of seeing Gaston's personal quarters for herself.

Without hesitation, she sprinted up the first flight of stairs as fast as her legs could carry her, a giddy excitement bubbling up through her body.

–

Belle was pleasantly surprised to find that the heavy oak door to Gaston's chambers gave way easily when she leaned her weight into it, creaking open with a quiet whine.

The room was dimly lit, thanks to a small lamp on the bedside table that had apparently been left on, giving Belle enough light to see her surroundings as she entered. Gaston's bedroom was extravagantly over-furnished, even compared to the rest of the house; a King-sized four-poster bed stood in the center of the room with the curtains drawn, and a nightstand on either side. The posts were black lacquered wood and intricately carved with details, and the mattress itself was raised and covered with layers of pillows and soft, woolen blankets. At the foot of the bed was a brown leather bench, and miscellaneous items lined the walls all around the room: a travel trunk, a couple armchairs, a bookcase (which, to Belle's absolute astonishment, actually contained a few books), a horizontal chest of drawers, a standing mirror, and a myriad of taxidermied animals to top off the decor. It was all done rather tastefully.

On either side of the room was a doorway: Through one doorway Belle could see someplace akin to a sitting room, and through another doorway Belle noticed a large marble bathroom with an incredibly large and modern glass shower-jacuzzi tub combo as the centerpiece. Belle never really picked Gaston as a guy who would enjoy a soak in the tub, but this one looked easily long enough to accommodate his impressive stature.

Belle found herself wondering how many women Gaston had taken in that tub, and she promptly shook her head to shoo such thoughts away.

The curious woman spent some time perusing the room, running her fingers along the spines of the books and examining the odd knick-knack here or there. She found something that appeared to be an old spyglass, but when Belle picked it up and expanded it to inspect the object further, the thick glass lens popped out and hit the ground rolling, disappearing under the bed where it collided with something metallic.

Belle dropped to her hands and knees and peeked under the bed. A metal box sat just out of her reach, and Belle had to wiggle her body part of the way underneath the bed to grab it. It was made of tin, not much larger than a shoebox, and when she pulled it out Belle saw that it had a padlock. When she jiggled it, she couldn't tell what was inside, only heightening her curiosity.

 _If I were Gaston, where would I hide a key?_ Belle pondered as she glanced around the room, tapping her finger to her chin.

Then, softly at first, but gradually getting louder, Belle could hear boots coming up the stairs. She cursed under her breath and shoved the box back under the bed, scrambling to hide herself behind the armchair in the corner just as the door to the bedroom swung open.

Gaston stood still in the doorframe for a minute, catching his breath and gathering his bearings after his ascent up the stairs.

Belle's heart hammered so loudly in her chest that she was afraid he would hear it.

He shuffled on his feet, redistributing his weight from one to another, and then stepped into the room. His fingers moved up to the top buttons of his forest green shirt, and Belle forgot to breathe as she realized that he was about to undress.

Unable to help herself, Belle's gaze followed his nimble fingers as they worked downward, and within seconds he was pulling the shirt off and away from his body to reveal strong arms, broad shoulders, and a form-fitting black muscle tee underneath. He went for that next, dipping his fingers under the hem and pulling the tight fabric up and over his head.

Although Belle had always known that Gaston was buff, she had never really known how much. Conservative business attire could really hide a lot of the finer details, like the dips and rivets that played in between his muscles, or the veins that throbbed just beneath the surface of his skin. His abs appeared to be molded from steel.

He turned away from Belle and began working at the closure on his jeans. White noise thrummed and hummed in Belle's ears and she realized with a self-loathing sort of disgust that her breathing was becoming more and more labored as she continued to watch, his toned buttocks coming into view and causing her internal organs to twist in on themselves.

Belle was entranced; his tall frame rippled with muscles as he moved. Every inch of his chest, arms, back, and legs was covered with a smattering of delicate, dark hairs. When he pulled his long hair loose and turned around, his whole front visible to Belle, a shocked squeak inadvertently escaped her lips and she averted her gaze quickly to avoid seeing the thing dangling between his legs, clapping a hand over her mouth.

 _Did he hear me?_ Belle wondered, squeezing her hand even tighter over her mouth. She hadn't meant to gasp like that at seeing him. Her stomach fluttered. She told herself it was the nerves, but she couldn't deny that, as far as physical attractiveness went, he truly was a fine specimen. If only he wasn't so rude.

Gaston looked around slowly, scanning the room, turning his head as if he were listening for something. After a minute, he left, disappearing from Belle's sight.

Belle exhaled a quiet breath of relief, allowing her shoulders to relax. Suddenly she heard the shuffle of footsteps returning to the center of the room, and looked up to see that Gaston was back, dressed in a fluffy white bathrobe and carrying an ancient-looking musket.

"I know someone's in here," he bellowed, pointing the gun with both hands in Belle's general direction as his eyes darted back and forth. He cocked the lock of the gun back with a _click_. "Come out and face me like a man!"

"Shit, Gaston, it's just me," Belle cried out, jumping with her hands up in surrender. "Put the gun down!"

Gaston spun to face her, and Belle noticed for the first time how unsure he was on his feet and the smell of beer that wafted from his breath. He was radiating drunkenness.

"You," he growled, lowering his gun only slightly.

"Gaston," Belle breathed, holding both hands in front of her in a calming gesture. "You're drunk."

" _No,_ " Gaston slurred, pointing at her with his chin. " _You're_ drunk."

He chuckled, amused at his own little joke. Belle rolled her eyes.

"I told you not to come in here," Gaston spit out abruptly, as if he just remembered that he was supposed to be angry. The top of his robe jostled open, revealing his chest. " _I told you._ "

Belle took a careful step forward. "Seriously, Gaston, put the gun down. Where did you get that thing anyway? It's 2017. Put it away and go to bed."

"I'll go to bed," Gaston offered. "If you go with me."

He wiggled his eyebrows at her and gestured towards the mattress, and Belle felt something inside her brain _snap_. It was high time she put her foot down.

"No, Gaston, I will _not_ go to bed with you," Belle stated, clearly irritated. "And the fact that you constantly proposition me is _highly_ inappropriate and disrespectful and I will _not–_ " Belle stomped her foot, "– _take it anymore!_ It's disrespectful to _me_ , it's disrespectful to your mother who birthed you, and it's disrespectful to every other woman who's ever had the misfortune to know you in any way, shape, or form. You will not touch me– or _any_ woman for that matter– without my expressed permission. Learn some goddamn manners and boundaries and _stop_ being such a misogynistic douchebag! _Capiche?_ "

Even in his drunken state, Gaston comprehended everything she said and stood there looking stunned as it sank in. Never in his wildest dreams did he ever imagine polite little Belle the bookworm taking such a stand for herself. Not once.

Scrunching his face in what one could only interpret as shame, Gaston dropped his eyes to the floor, lowering his gun.

Belle nodded and lowered her hands. "Good. Now can you put that thing away, please? Carefully?"

Gaston smiled mischievously at her. "You know, that's the first time I've ever heard a woman ask me that–"

He hoisted the rifle up on his shoulder and it suddenly misfired upward in a deafening burst of light and smoke, the smell of gunpowder immediately filling the air. Belle shrieked in alarm, and Gaston swayed from the force of the unexpected shot. Bits of plaster rained down from the ceiling, and before either one of them knew what was happening, the small chandelier fell, crashing down on Gaston's head and knocking him out cold.


	7. Chapter 7

"Ow, _that hurts!_ " Gaston snarled, yanking his head out of Belle's grasp.

The brown-haired woman groaned, her once-pristine white sweatshirt smeared with tiny streaks of blood. "If you'd stop moving it wouldn't hurt as much!"

Gaston hissed as Belle forcefully pressed the alcohol-soaked rag to his forehead once more, putting pressure on the wound. He squirmed on the stool at the kitchen counter, his facial features bunched in pain. Belle had refused to allow him to awake Monsieur, insisting that she tend to his cuts and gashes herself to avoid rousing the poor old man at such an ungodly hour.

"Are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital?"

"Yes, I'm sure," he retorted, taking a dramatic swig of whiskey from the bottle he was holding. The clock on the microwave blinked _4:10_. "I think you've already gotten all of the glass out. Besides, I wouldn't be in this mess if you hadn't been sneaking around in my room. Why should I get stuck with the bill?"

"Well, I wouldn't be here at all if you hadn't fired me," Belle scoffed as she continued wiping at the blood seeping into his hairline.

"You agreed to come here of your own free will, lady. And I wouldn't have fired you if you hadn't trapped me in the copy machine," Gaston snapped back, loudly enough that Belle was afraid he'd wake Monsieur.

Bewildered, Belle took a step back to look Gaston directly in the eyes. She jabbed a finger into his chest.

"I didn't trap you, you _fell_. And you wouldn't have fallen if you hadn't– hadn't–" Belle threw her hands up in frustration. "– _groped_ me!"

Gaston opened his mouth to say something further, but snapped it shut and looked away instead. His lips puckered and pursed as he chewed on the inside of his cheek anxiously, and Belle could tell she had struck a nerve. Somewhere, deep down, he _knew_ his behavior was wrong, and Belle may have just been the first woman to ever call him out on it.

 _The bastard._

"Oh, so that's it?" Belle laughed haughtily, dipping the towel into the bowl of water beside her and wringing out the excess. "End of discussion?"

"I guess so," Gaston said flatly, crossing his arms like a petulant child.

Ever since they had left New York City earlier that day, Belle had noticed Gaston was cranky; he was being standoffish and aloof, and not acting as a very genial host in the slightest. The incident in the copy room really must've done more damage to his pride than Belle originally thought. While the last thing she wanted to do was coddle Gaston's bruised ego, she also couldn't stand seeing him so dejected, so out of his element– even if his "element" was more obnoxious than the current state he was in. It was unnerving, and downright unnatural.

Belle sighed. "Look, Gaston– I'm sorry. I really am. I shouldn't have gone into your room after you told me not to. It wasn't right. And what happened in the copy room was an accident, but I'm sorry for that, too."

Gaston _harrumphed_ his acknowledgement of her apology.

"But that doesn't excuse your behavior towards me," she added, pressing the wet cloth to the purple lump forming on Gaston's head. He was silent.

"You can talk about your feelings, too, Gaston," Belle offered sincerely. Prodding him further, she placed a warm hand on his forearm. "I won't judge you. What's on your mind?"

Gaston remained silent, but his arms shifted a little and Belle could tell he was uncomfortable.

"Nobody's ever… _humiliated_ me like that before," Gaston huffed at last, focusing on a spot on the wall and avoiding Belle's gaze.

Belle's face softened.

"Are you talking about what happened in the copy room? Are you really _that_ upset with me? Is that why you've been keeping to yourself since we left the city?"

"You're asking too many questions."

"I thought you liked talking about yourself."

"You're just the first guest that's been here in long time," Gaston shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Normally, this is my private getaway. Where I go to be alone. I don't _entertain_. That was always… nevermind."

Belle knotted her eyebrows. "You're not always alone, are you? What about Monsieur?"

Gaston shrugged, still facing away from her, and Belle figured she wasn't going to get him to open much more that night.

"You know, I was a little surprised," Belle started. Gaston shot her a look of concern and she giggled. "I was honestly expecting your room to be much different. Full of– oh, I don't know– dirty magazines, and lava lamps, and posters of half-naked women."

She thought of the metal box under Gaston's bed. Whatever was inside must've been the reason he wanted to keep her out.

Gaston snorted. But then his face fell and he turned away again. "You really thought that?"

Sheepishly, Belle nodded.

"You don't think too highly of me, do you?"

Belle exhaled a breath. "I think you know damn well what I think of you, Gaston. You've just always refused to listen."

She gave him a meaningful look.

Gaston shrugged, glancing at the brown-haired woman from out of the corner of his eye. "Maybe people aren't always what they seem."

"Yeah," Belle murmured, running the towel along a tender spot near his temple. "Maybe you're right."

Gaston, at last, turned to look her in the eyes. "Thank you."

Belle stopped what she was doing, taken aback. Never in all the months since first meeting Gaston had she heard him utter those words out loud to anyone. Not even LeFou, the one person in Gaston's life who probably deserved to be thanked the most for putting up with him.

"For what?" she near-whispered. Her hand holding the rag shook slightly with exhaustion and she lowered it to rest on the countertop.

"For… all… _this_ ," Gaston mumbled, gesturing to his wounded head.

Belle smiled. "Well, I don't think you need stitches, so that's good. We'll get you cleaned up and put on some fresh bandages."

The evening seemed to be taking an even stranger turn. The wheels in the young woman's mind began turning as she tried to reconcile _this_ Gaston– the Gaston who sat quietly, behaved somberly, said "thank you," and kept mostly to himself– with the brash, invasive, overconfident Gaston from the office who she had come to know and loathe.

Trying to distract herself from this new inner turmoil, Belle dropped the cloth into the bowl of water and moved it to the sink, turning back to speak to Gaston from over her shoulder as he rose from his seat.

"And Gaston? You're welcome."

–

 **Have a little faith in me, guys! Every detail (including Gaston's behavior) happens for a reason. ;-) And while this isn't an exact retelling of Beauty and the Beast, it** _ **is**_ **meant to be a loose parallel, so I am throwing in a few familiar details. But I promise it's not a cookie-cutter story. The rest of the story will not be following the original closely at all. Again, thank you all for the compliments and crits!**


	8. Chapter 8

Belle was awoken by a sharp knock on the door. At first her stomach churned out of instinct, thinking it could be Gaston, but then she heard a soft voice call out for her.

"Miss? Gaston is requesting your presence for breakfast this morning."

Belle sat up on the cot and rubbed her eyes, yawning. Yellow sunlight was already filtering in through the small window of her room.

"Thank you, Monsieur."

She took her time to rise and dress, settling on a charcoal gray wool skirt and powder blue satin peasant blouse with bell sleeves. She undid the braid she had slept in and brushed her hair out before pulling it back into a low bun. Her NYU sweatshirt lay crumpled on the floor, and when she picked it up she frowned at seeing the bloodstains from earlier, already brown from oxidation.

If Belle had any sort of inclination that a mutual understanding had transpired between the two of them during the events of the previous night, she could not have felt any more incorrect when she stepped into the kitchen that morning.

"Belle!" Gaston greeted in his infamous and all-too-familiar mock-friendly tone, a stark change from the gruff Gaston of yesterday. Belle stood rigid in the doorway.

"Good morning, Gaston," she replied tentatively. Instantly she was transported back to his office in New York City, quavering in her shoes as she awaited the forthcoming onslaught of harassment and condescension.

Gaston sat at the white, square bistro table against the windows with his feet up, sipping a mug of coffee in one hand and holding a tabloid newspaper in the other. His face was covered all over in fine red cuts, and Belle could see the deep gash, surrounded by an eggplant-colored bruise, that had manifested above his left eye. Other than his injuries and the dark stubble he sported along his jaw, Gaston looked no worse for wear, dressed in a light gray button up shirt that he had left open, showing the white tee underneath that hugged his pectorals, and regular denim jeans. His freshly-showered hair fell in waves over his shoulders. Clean cut, yet casual enough.

 _I guess he's back to his usual self,_ Belle thought, accepting the fact that she had been mistaken in believing that maybe Gaston wasn't really such a bad guy, and for thinking that perhaps they were kindred spirits: two misunderstood individuals who rarely got to show their true colors to other people. She felt silly for ever entertaining the idea. _Good old Gaston._

"Belle," Gaston repeated, waving to a chair beside him at the table. "Have a seat."

The steel prep cart just off to the side of the table was filled with a spread of breakfast foods: platters of sausage links and strips of bacon, slices of ham and scrambled eggs, stacks of pancakes and cut fruit. Belle opted for the seat across from him instead of the one he offered. If Gaston was effected by her choice, it was imperceptible. She made herself a plate and poured a cup of tea from the kettle beside her, never once looking at Gaston. He watched her intently.

"I hope you slept well," Gaston offered, his voice dripping with false sincerity. "I need you to be on top of your game for me today."

Belle raised an eyebrow at him. "For what?"

Gaston laughed then, a booming, bellowing laugh that startled the still half-asleep Belle. The butterfly bandage on his forehead loosened and then pulled taut in succession with his shifting facial expressions.

"For the ball," he replied smoothly. There was an undeniable twinge of annoyance in his voice as he lifted his mug to his lips. "You would've known that if you had attended dinner last night. We have a lot to go over."

Before Belle could utter a single word in response, Gaston reached behind himself and produced a massive manila folder, easily as thick as one or two of Belle's books, and dropped it on the table with a _slap_.

The horrified look on Belle's face did little to deter Gaston as he pulled out a pair of reading glasses, placing them on his face and adjusting them to sit on the bridge of his nose. The young woman had never seen her boss wear glasses before and her puzzlement only intensified.

"If you're going to be my wife," Gaston spoke as he fanned out the pages from the folder, spreading them across the tabletop. "Then there are a few things you'll need to know about me to be able to play the part convincingly."

Belle was surprised. "That's… actually a good idea, Gaston."

And it was. She hardly knew anything about him; if she had gone into the ball pretending to be married to the man, and yet couldn't speak or answer questions about him, they wouldn't make a good impression at all. The simple fact that Gaston had the foresight to think of such a situation was astonishing. His sudden stroke of genius was definitely unexpected, but Belle supposed he must be _somewhat_ intelligent to have made it as far as he had in his career.

 _Maybe intelligent isn't the right word to describe him,_ Belle thought. _Clever. Or crafty, maybe._

Then Belle thought of a better word: _Manipulative._

And if Belle didn't help him secure his club membership, she had no doubt that the deal would be off and her career would end right where it started.

Gaston pulled out a sheet of paper from the stack and handed it to Belle. Upon looking at it, she realized it was essentially a cheat sheet of all details pertaining to Gaston: his height (6'6"), weight (270 pounds, with an asterisk denoting his muscle-to-fat ratio), birthday (August 9th), age (32), hair color (black), eye color (blue), favorite food (steak and potatoes), favorite movie ("Top Gun")– the list went on.

"Wow, Gaston," Belle said as her eyes scanned across the document. "I'm impressed."

As per usual, Gaston mistook her praise of the document for admiration of his physical self.

"Why, thank you, Belle. Study that, and make sure you know it well."

"I will," Belle agreed, thinking that was the end of it, then realized there was more. "What are those other documents?"

"Just some speaking points, topics you're permitted to talk about and ones you're not, highlights about me that you should try to bring up every chance you can–"

"Okay, great, got it," Belle murmured as she picked at her food, suddenly not feeling very hungry.

"You can look over all of this on your own today. However, there is one thing I want to go over with you, while you're here. I know you don't have much experience with members of the opposite sex–" Gaston started, pulling out another sheet of paper from the stack and placing it before the brown-haired woman.

She realized too slowly that she was looking at a picture of Gaston in the nude– full frontal.

"Oh my God!" Belle cried out, immediately shielding her eyes. "Gaston!"

"Look at it, Belle," Gaston insisted, poking his pointer finger onto the page. "If you're going to play the part of my sexy, doting wife, you gotta have some knowledge of what a naked man looks like."

"Gaston, this is _so beyond inappropriate_. It– it's just too much! Why would I ever need to know about this? Or talk about it with anyone? And I'll have you know, I _do_ have experience in _that_ department, thank you very much," Belle shot back, her face hot, peeking from between her fingers. It was actually a nice shot; it appeared to have been taken by a professional photographer, and was rather artistic in its usage of grayscale tones.

Gaston snorted, accidentally spraying a stream of orange juice from between his closed lips. Belle scrunched her nose in disgust.

"What, do you think I'm a virgin? To just assume that is rude, Gaston."

"Did you want me to assume otherwise?" Gaston retorted, looking down at her from over his spectacles. "Or would you rather I ask you directly?"

"Oh my God, _neither,_ " Belle seethed. She felt the heat of her anger flush through her body. This was a new low, even for Gaston.

 _Good old Gaston._

"If you'd like," Gaston began, scooting his chair closer to Belle's side of the table. "I could help you get in some practice today."

A visible tremor ran its course through Belle's body. Gaston took the hint– for once– and backed off slightly, chuckling.

"If you must know," Belle stated matter-of-factly, stabbing the ham on her plate with her fork for emphasis. "I've sort of been seeing someone."

Gaston stopped chuckling then. His eyebrows drew inward, and he rubbed the tip of his pinky finger around inside his ear.

"Hold on, I don't think I heard you correctly. You said you're seeing someone? As in, dating someone?"

"Well, I was," Belle huffed, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. "Not that it's any of your business anyway."

"Who?"

Belle groaned and rolled her eyes. She so did not want to be having this conversation with Gaston of all people. "If you _really_ must know, it was... Adam."

Belle was surprised with herself when she found that it actually felt kind of good to brag to her former boss about her somewhat existent love life.

"Adam?" Gaston's eyes squinted in confusion. "Adam…"

"From Accounting."

Gaston promptly conjured up the visage of the blonde man with the chiseled jaw and striking blue eyes behind thick black frames and scowled.

"That geeky little pretty boy?"

"He's really nice once you get to know him," Belle mused with a smug smile gracing her lips, taking a sip of her tea. "Even with his anger problems."

Gaston was stunned. All the times Belle had rejected him, turned him down flat, and she was secretly banging that dweeb? What did he have that Gaston didn't?

"You know interoffice relationships are prohibited," Gaston threatened. In truth, _he_ was the one feeling threatened. Belle laughed.

"What are you going to do– _fire me?_ "

Gaston pursed his lips and flared his nostrils. "Like I said, study this folder. Memorize everything before the ball tonight, and we won't have a problem. Got it?"

"Why me?" Belle asked suddenly, setting her teacup and saucer down. "Why not Claudette? Or Paulette? They would've done anything you asked."

Gaston scoffed.

"Those bimbos don't have enough class, beauty, or brains between the two of them to even come close to comparing to you, Belle," he purred, lifting his mug. "They're always good for a romp or two in the sack, but _you_ are the most beautiful girl in the office. The true prize. Even under all those frumpy grandma layers you like to wear."

Belle grimaced at the backhanded compliment. Gaston was good at that.

"Thanks," she mumbled, swallowing down the rest of her tea.

"I mean, it definitely helped that you were so desperate to agree to my proposal. And I'm sure you wouldn't have had any other plans this weekend anyway–"

"Okay, I think that's quite enough," Belle groaned, raising her hand in a gesture for him to stop. She rose from the table, setting her napkin aside. "Now, if you'll excuse me–"

Gaston pointed a finger at her and waved it back and forth. "Not so fast, Belle. While you're here, you are my wife. And _my wife_ always does the dishes after breakfast."

The sly grin that he gave Belle then made her hand ache to slap it clear off of his face.

"Isn't that Monsieur's job? I sort of had something I wanted to work on…"

Gaston eyed her with a look of warning and Belle grimaced.

"Alright, fine," she agreed reluctantly, moving to remove the plates from the table.

"And when you're done with that, my trophy room can use a good dusting," Gaston spoke condescendingly from over the tabloid he had picked up again as he lifted his coffee to his lips. "Thanks, _honey._ "

When his eyes went back down to reading the paper, Belle flipped him the bird.

–

 **Sorry for the late update! I went on a trip and now I'm in the middle of moving apartments. I'll try to churn out the next couple chapters quickly to make up for it. And as usual, thank you all for reading and reviewing!**


	9. Chapter 9

It was nearly one o'clock when Gaston burst through the door of Belle's guest room.

She had spent the morning cleaning the kitchen, even going as far as to to wipe down the countertops and mop the floor, to spare Monsieur any extraneous chores. Shortly after she had finished, Gaston returned from his ride and tracked his muddy boots across the freshly-waxed tile. Gritting her teeth, Belle had set about mopping a second time.

She had just completed dusting and polishing Gaston's impressive collection of hunting trophies– where she had been only slightly nauseated by the fact that someone could be that skilled at killing– and had retired to her room to write in peace when Gaston appeared.

"Belle," he hissed in a panicky voice, snapping his fingers to get her attention. The woman mentioned by name glanced up patiently from her notebook to see a very red-faced and sweaty Gaston huffing in the doorway. He was dressed in a simple heather gray tank top and black spandex gym shorts, with his greasy hair pulled back in a ponytail and a white towel slung around his neck. Belle raised her eyebrows in curiosity, picking up on his obvious state of distress.

"The men from the club are here," he continued with a pant. "I need you to make us lunch."

"You could've knocked," Belle replied flatly from her spot where she sat on the bed, legs crossed, indifferent to his command.

"It's my house," he retorted. His brows knotted together, perplexed by her lack of urgency.

Belle smiled sweetly up at him. "But dear, we're married. It's our house."

Gaston wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "Listen, I'm going to go shower and get dressed, so you need to go downstairs and distract them. Entertain them. Serve them drinks and all that. Make a good impression."

He seemed nervous and Belle cocked her head at him. "Where's Monsieur?"

"He's out picking up my tux for tonight." Gaston's voice thickened with evidence that his patience was wearing thin.

"Say 'please.'"

Gaston face scrunched into an undignified expression. "What?"

Belle sighed and closed her notebook. "Ask me if I could please make lunch."

A few moments of silence passed between them in a sort of awkward standoff, as Belle watched an internal struggle play out on Gaston's face. At long last, he threw his hands up in defeat.

"Okay, okay, can you please make lunch and entertain my guests while I shower?" The words seemed to pain him as he hurriedly spit them out.

Belle stood up from the bed and walked to the door, tweaking him on the nose as she passed.

"See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" she teased, her tawny eyes full of mirth.

"Go," Gaston growled as he jerked his head out of Belle's reach. She laughed, openly amused by his discomfort, and walked away from him to make her way down to the foyer.

It took Gaston a minute to recover from the interaction with Belle. He shook his head to clear it and glanced around the room to seek a distraction from the strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. His gaze swept from her blood-stained sweatshirt to her old tattered duffel bag, briefly considering digging around for a pair of panties, before finally landing on the notebook left behind on the bed. Making sure Belle was out of sight, he grabbed the spiral-bound book and sprinted up to his rooms with it secured tightly in his grip.

–

"Gentlemen," Belle greeted as she reached the bottom of the steps leading into the foyer, patting her hair to smooth it. She stood straight and posh, self-consciously pushing her shoulders back and lifting her chin, trying her best to slip into the role of Gaston's doting trophy wife. "So sorry to keep you waiting."

A portly middle-aged man with a pencil mustache stood chatting with a tall, lanky man with an elongated nose, and they both looked up in unison as Belle crossed the floor to meet them.

"Ma 'chere Mademoiselle," the slender man crooned in appreciation upon seeing Belle, his voice dripping with the viscosity of an unmistakably thick French accent.

"Bonjour," Belle greeted with a laugh. "But I believe you mean Madame. I am..."

The words stuck in her throat like dry toast; she coughed to get them out. "... Gaston's wife."

"My sincerest apologies," the man bowed with respect. "I thought you were zee maid, but of course a woman as beautiful as you could be none other than zee mistress of zee house! My name is Lumiere, and this is my colleague, Cogsworth."

"Hello," the portly man sniffed with a slight upturn of his head, the tiniest hint of a British accent coming through.

"My name is Belle," Belle reciprocated, shaking each man's hand in turn. "Gaston will only be a moment, if you'd like to follow me to the– uhm– terrace, I'd be happy to get you gentlemen something to drink."

–

An hour passed and the drinks had been flowing freely since the men's arrival. Belle had tried refilling their glasses of whisky as quickly as they were downing them, but after the fourth of fifth round she had settled on simply leaving them the decanter while she sauntered off to make lunch.

Gaston was regaling his guests with a dramatic hunting story when Belle returned, delicately carrying a tray of light fare: pan-seared asparagus, cut fruit, smoked salmon fillets, and cucumber sandwiches.

She set the pewter tray on the table and offered each man a plate. Eager to leave, she bowed to the men and turned to go, but was stopped by Gaston's hand on her wrist.

"Ahem, pumpkin," he purred, smiling up at her. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

Belle glanced around at the glasses on the table; they were all full, and there was enough scotch left in the decanter for at least a few more rounds. She had also remembered to bring the silverware and napkins.

"No?" Belle raised an eyebrow at him in confusion.

Gaston smirked even wider and tapped his freshly-shaven cheek with his finger.

"My kiss," he said in mock surprise. "Don't tell me you were going to go back inside without giving me a kiss."

Belle narrowed her eyes at him. She could see right through the game he was playing. A game where he was the player, referee, and judge; a game where he had the advantage over her no matter what she did.

Even if she won in the end, she'd still lose.

Bracing herself with a clenched fish at her side, Belle bent down and laid a swift, tight-lipped peck on Gaston's proffered cheek before Cogsworth and Lumiere could realize anything was amiss. The light stubble of hair tingled the skin of her lips, and she found herself inadvertently inhaling his scent as she pulled away.

Her fake husband hummed appreciatively and gave her a grotesquely cocky grin that Belle could only answer with a grimace, before she spun on her heel in haste, trying to leave before Gaston requested anything more of her. She was afraid of how much worse the next "kiss" would be.

It was then that Gaston's hand shot out, and took a hefty handful of her bum in his palm, gripping the soft flesh through her skirt.

The game be damned.

Belle whipped around, and without hesitation she yanked Gaston's glass of whisky up from its spot on the table and downturned it directly over Gaston's lap, rocks and all.

Cogsworth looked as though he'd seen a ghost; his face paled, and the drink he held nearly slipped from his slim fingers. Lumiere, stunned at first, suddenly erupted into a fit of laughter, pounding his fist on the table as tears streamed down his face.

Gaston's eye twitched; he looked ready to kill. The ice cold liquid had soaked into the crotch of his trousers and was now spreading, seeping down his left pant leg.

Belle leaned down, kissed her fake husband's cheek once more, offered him a smile, and then slammed the glass back down on the table.

"Charming girl," Cogsworth mumbled pretentiously as she stormed away from the group.

–

For those of you wondering, this fic is based on the 1991 animated film and characters. Also, for some reason I picture Gaston in this fic as Steve Howey (the actor who plays Kevin in the U.S. version of Shameless) and Belle as either Keira Knightley (specifically her character in Seeking A Friend For The End Of The World) or Emmy Rossum– or as a mix of both!


	10. Chapter 10

Belle was waiting just inside the back door, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed when Gaston stormed through it. The redness of his face and the labored way he was breathing was all Belle needed to know that she had righteously pissed him off.

He had no idea that she was about to turn Gaston's game on its head.

"Deal's off," he sneered, jabbing a shaky finger in Belle's direction.

The brown-haired woman widened her eyes, feigning surprise with a lift of her eyebrow. "Oh? I don't think it is."

Gaston strolled towards her as casually as he could manage, standing until they were nearly toe-to-toe, easily looming over Belle's petite frame. For perhaps the first time ever, she dared to stare directly into his baby blue eyes without trembling.

"You think you're getting your job back after that little stunt you just pulled?" His voice was a hiss. "In your _dreams_ , bitch."

Belle's eyes dropped to the wet spot on the front of his jeans and she breathed out an airy chuckle.

"First of all, _don't_ call me 'bitch,'" she snapped, straightening herself to appear taller as she glared at Gaston. "And yeah, I think you _are_ going to give me my job back."

A vein bulged so severely in Gaston's muscular neck that Belle was afraid it might pop and start spewing blood at any second.

"Listen, Gaston," she started, willing her voice to sound confident. "There are things that we both want. Things that only _we_ can give each other. So why don't _we_ start cooperating?"

Despite his rage, the businessman in Gaston seemed to perk up at her words. He squinted his eyes, focusing on Belle, but said nothing.

Now that she had his undivided attention, Belle continued speaking. "I want my job back. But if you call our little arrangement off now, then not only do I not get my job, but you end up with no date to the ball, and therefore you don't get to join your fancy country club."

"Hunting club."

"Whatever. All I'm saying is, you _think_ you hold all the cards here, but you _don't_. Either we both win, or we both lose. So why don't we end this power struggle right now and choose to work _together_ to achieve our goals?"

Gaston pursed lips, the way he commonly did when he was thinking or embarrassed; Belle had noticed that he usually did it when he had been proven wrong and he knew it, but didn't want to admit it. It was one of the few nervous habits of his that she had picked up on.

"You're saying… we can help each other out," Gaston murmured, rubbing his dimpled chin in thought. It was as if the idea never crossed his mind.

He turned his face to the side as he thought about it, then began pacing the cramped mudroom, stepping over piles of boots and various yard equipment, mumbling the pros and cons of such a plan to himself as Belle watched on in awe. She had never seen Gaston's decision-making process to such an extent before. He seemed to be playing through every possible scenario in his head.

Suddenly, Gaston stopped in his tracks, and glanced at Belle out of the corner of his eye.

"I have some stipulations," he said.

"As do I," Belle retorted. She shifted away from the wall, arms still crossed over her chest. "You go first."

"Fine. No more spilling drinks on me, slapping me– what have you. You will _not_ talk down to me in front of the men. And, as your husband, I will be allowed to touch you however I please in public, so that we come across as a loving, well-adjusted couple."

" _No_ groping," Belle said firmly.

"Light touching?"

Belle shot him a look of warning and Gaston groaned.

"Okay, fine, I won't grope or touch you," Gaston acquiesced. "Well– not unless you beg me to."

He winked and Belle rolled her eyes.

"But," Gaston continued, holding up a finger. "You have to initiate the touching, then. Patting me on the back, holding hands– that kind of thing."

Belle thought for a moment and then nodded; physical contact with Gaston on her own terms would be manageable, and a necessary evil to be able to play the part and play it well. "Agreed."

Gaston nodded back, pointing his chin towards her. "Your turn."

"No groping," Belle reiterated, ignoring the way the dark-haired man huffed in response. "And as your wife, you will treat me with nothing but respect in front of your peers. No more insults, innuendo, or vulgar comments about my body. In exchange for your cooperation, I'll play the part of the perfect wife– without complaint."

Gaston paused to consider her words, his eyes rolling this way and that as he concentrated.

Belle reached out her open hand to him. "Deal?"

At last, he seemed to accede, eyeing the brown-haired woman carefully before his face spread into a satisfied grin. She really was more than a pretty face and a tight body; she was more intelligent than he had ever been bothered to notice before, and at the pace she was learning to play Gaston's game, he couldn't help but be impressed.

Gaston reached out and took her small hand in his own hot grip, shaking their conjoined hands up and down excitedly. The unfamiliar and intimate touch sent a jolt through each of them, though neither one let it show.

"You've got yourself a deal, Belle."

"Good," Belle replied, withdrawing her hand from Gaston's. She couldn't help but smile a little herself.

"And as my perfect wife," Gaston said with a start, "You can begin with the laundry."

In a flash, Gaston was reaching for his zipper and kicking off his damp pants, throwing them in Belle's direction with mischief. She caught the wad of balled-up fabric before it hit the ground.

" _Gaston!_ " Belle gasped indignantly, but couldn't stop the laugh that escaped her mouth as Gaston turned and comically ran from the room, his bare, toned buttocks disappearing into the hallway and around the corner. She pictured him sprinting, half-naked, through the expansive house and had to stifle a giggle.

It was then, as she flipped the wet clothes in her arms to inspect the stain, that something fell from the back pocket of Gaston's jeans and _clinked_ to the floor. Belle knelt down to pick it up, and was stunned to find a small brass key, just about the size of a padlock.


	11. Chapter 11

After Gaston had changed clothes and asked the men to join him in the lounge for cigars and brandy, Belle had lunch by herself in the kitchen, but not before Lumiere passed through and took a minute to praise her for her fiery spirit. His admiration for Belle's earlier discretion made the humble woman blush, and when the Frenchman insisted to Gaston that she _must_ attend the ball that evening, and that Gaston was a lucky man to have such a passionate woman as his wife, Gaston had sheepishly admitted that she would be there before ushering them out of the kitchen, catching the smug look Belle shot him as she took a bite of her sandwich.

Belle finished her meal and retired to her room, stopping in front of the stairwell to Gaston's loft on her way there, fingering the small piece of metal in the pocket of her skirt. It absolutely _had_ to be the key to the tin box under Gaston's bed; curiosity as to what could be hidden away nagged at Belle, and the temptation to run upstairs and find out without a second thought was overwhelming. Now would be the best possible time to do it, while Gaston was away and distracted, but Belle felt a pang of guilt at the idea of snooping through Gaston's room again– especially now that they seemed to have a mutual agreement of respect for one another.

Instead, she went straight to her room, took the key out of her pocket, and placed it in the top drawer of the dresser, slamming it shut with finality.

Grabbing her phone, Belle flopped onto the bed and clicked it on, checking for messages. The time on the screen read 3:09. She had told her Papa that she was camping in the mountains with some friends from college and wouldn't have cell service, and although she felt terrible for lying to him, she didn't want to give him any reason to unnecessarily worry. She considered calling him, biting her lip as she struggled with herself, but eventually turned the phone off and set it down.

Sighing, Belle rolled over and laid an arm over her eyes, the lack of sleep from the previous night quickly catching up with her.

–

Gaston bid Cogsworth and Lumiere farewell and closed the door behind them, exhaling a breath of relief as he leaned against the cool wood. Somehow, some way, Belle had managed to make quite a first impression, as both men had indicated their eagerness to see the couple later that evening. They had even been invited to sit with the men at their table.

Upon entering his room, Gaston immediately fell into bed; a headache was forming behind his eyeballs, no doubt as a result of the previous night's incident– from which there were still shards of shiny crystal littering the floor. He rubbed his bruised temples, lightly touching the butterfly bandage above his eyebrow, reminiscing about the way Belle had gone about taking care of him after the chandelier came crashing down upon his head. The way her soft hands worked over his damaged skin made his stomach flutter; no one had been that tender with him since his mother was alive, and the thought made his aching eyes pulse with a dull pain.

Rolling over, Gaston felt the hard corner of something poke his side and he winced, reaching underneath himself to grab whatever it was. Upon looking at it, he realized he was holding the notebook he had snatched from Belle's room earlier. She was almost never seen without it, always carrying it around the office, or scribbling away madly at her desk, filling the lined pages with God-knows-what. Whenever he or anyone else approached, she would slam it shut and hide it away in her bag. Sometimes at lunch, Gaston would look out of the window of his office and see her sitting on one of the benches on the waterfront; usually she was reading a novel, but occasionally she'd be writing in the notebook. It had always incited Gaston's interest; he assumed it was a diary of sorts.

Opening the spiral-bound book to the first page, Gaston found that he could not be more wrong: It was a manuscript.

Shocked, Gaston slammed the book shut. He hesitated before opening it again, a rare moment of clarity telling him that he had no right to read her private work. Somehow, this was worse than a diary. It was more personal.

Unable to fight his growing curiosity, he peeled back the front cover, carefully, his eyes scanning the page with cautious hunger. The paper was stacked top-to-bottom with handwritten text; her penmanship was flawless, clean and smooth and flowy in a way that was pleasing to the eye– the polar opposite of Gaston's own messy scrawl. There were tiny corrections and suggestions written in between each line, squeezed between the words. The footnotes were crammed with comments that indicated her stream of consciousness. Some words on the page were struck out, and others were circled; entire sentences were underlined, and some had even been run over multiple times with an ink pen to bold them. As he flipped through the notebook, he found that each page had a similar effect. Belle's writing process was a work of art in and of itself.

Standing up, Gaston moved to the door to lock it, before returning to his bed and settling in to read.

–

"Miss?"

Belle jolted awake.

"It's a quarter to five, Miss. You may want to start getting ready for the ball."

Belle rubbed her eyes sleepily.

"Thank you, Monsieur," she called out through the door.

Rising with effort, her limbs inexplicably sore, Belle gathered the toiletries needed from her bag. The lavish bathroom she had been granted access to for the duration of her stay was at the end of the hall; it wasn't as large or impressive as the one she had seen in Gaston's room, but it had its own charm. Upon entering was a sort of tiny powder room, consisting of a plush rose-colored armchair sitting before a porcelain vanity with a gilded mirror; the room beyond the next door consisted of a single clawfoot tub, and through yet another door off to the side was the toilet closet. The walls in each room were covered in an earthy, leaf-patterned wallpaper, and the bronze and glass light fixtures seemed to hail from over a century ago.

Belle set her things on the countertop and moved through to the tub, turning the faucet on to draw herself a bath.

–

Gaston shut the notebook with force. He had read the entire thing, end to end, in a little over two hours.

And he was livid.

The story began innocently enough: A young girl graduates from a small private college in the Midwest before moving to a big city. The book starts by detailing her struggles living, loving, and socializing in a new environment, which Gaston was sure paralleled Belle's own experiences, but as he read on, the story only got darker.

The main character gets a job at a book company that specializes in printing and publishing fictional crime thrillers, where she is harassed day in and day out by a hideously grotesque male character; the man is described to be a deadringer for Gaston– tall, dark hair, muscular– but the words used to describe him indicate that he is a very ugly character, both on the inside and out. He abuses the main character constantly, makes her cry, rips up her work, burns her with cigarettes, and humiliates her in front of the entire office on a daily basis. He takes liberties with her body with increasing frequency, and towards the end of the novel the abuse culminates in a near rape.

The bulk of the manuscript deals with her attempts to balance the consistent barrage of abuse from this monster, and the effects he has on her psyche, with the rest of her mediocre, boringly average life on a day-to-day basis. Over the course of the novel the protagonist's psychological state degrades from certain lucidity to being of questionable reliability, yet the entirety of the novel's tone paints her in a light that is both sympathetic and endearing.

The tale tentatively ends with the main character agreeing to go on a dinner date with the man, whereby she quietly reveals to him in a crowded restaurant that she has been poisoning his coffee each day– a little at a time– so that the fatal effects would not be evident until that very moment. In the middle of the restaurant, unable to say a word, the man begins sweating, his excited heartbeat increasing the fatality of the poison, and he suffers and perishes in the middle of the room, with none of the restaurant's other patrons being any the wiser that foul play is at hand.

The last page describes the young woman's drastic attempts to change her appearance– cutting her long brown hair short and bleaching it blonde, putting in colored contact lenses, applying liberal amounts of self-tanner and red lipstick– and driving off to an unknown destination, getting away with her crime scot-free, although the paper is full of scratches and question marks, as if the writer was not sure of whether or not she liked the ending. Either way, Gaston could see that any normal reader would've been left elated at the main character's macabre-but-justified victory over her abuser.

He had never pinned Belle as one to fantasize about revenge in such vivid detail, but _damn_ , it was an incredibly good read. He wouldn't admit it outright to himself, but Belle was definitely a talented writer.

More than anything, Gaston was _pissed_ , but his anger was undermined by a fine layer of tragic disappointment; to see himself portrayed in such a way, from her own perspective, was enough to make his gut heavy with regret.

The beautiful woman he had pined for, attempted to make his, for almost a year– it was crystal clear to him now how much she actually _detested_ him.

Was this story how Belle _truly_ perceived Gaston? As nothing more than a cruel, sadistic beast in her life? He had no redeeming qualities in her eyes. Even his dashing good looks didn't count for anything. She loathed him.

Throwing the book down on the bed, Gaston whipped around and out the door, marching downstairs, ready to give Belle a piece of his mind.

–

Belle took her time in the tub, drawing out her bath for as long as she could. The water was nice and hot, and it felt wonderful as it heated her body all over while she soaked. She would have never dreamed a bath could feel this luxurious; it had been years since she'd had the opportunity to enjoy a proper one. Belle rarely got enough warm water for a shower at her apartment back in Queens, let alone enough to fill an entire bathtub.

She read a couple chapters from one of the books she had brought with her to pass the time, savoring the silence save for the gentle _swish_ of water in the tub whenever she moved. After awhile she lathered up with her favorite jasmine soap, the scent wafting to her nose and filling the modest bath chamber with aromatic splendor.

When Belle had finished and rinsed, standing to exit the tub, her heart sank as she realized she had forgotten one very important thing: a towel.

"Shit," she muttered softly. Looking down, she could see the rivulets of wet suds sliding down her body, over and down her breasts, trailing past her bellybutton to cascade down her thighs, leaving shiny trails on her porcelain skin. Her long hair absorbed water like a sponge, and the sodden clumps stuck to her back like tape.

Belle didn't bring a towel, and she hadn't the slightest clue where she could find one. If she were quick, she decided, she could run back to her room undetected and use a blanket to dry off.

Stepping out of the tub one foot at a time, the water-logged woman tiptoed to the powder room door, opening it a crack and peering out into the hallway. There wasn't a soul in sight. To be safe, Belle waited a minute to see if anyone would appear. When nobody did, she creeped through the door and began hurriedly walking to her room at the other end of the hall.

She increased her pace as she went, frantically passing door after door in her dash to make it to her room before anything unthinkable could happen.

It was then, when she glanced back over her shoulder to make sure she remained unseen, that the unthinkable happened: Belle crashed headfirst into a person.

But not just any person.

Belle was thrown back from the force of the collision and she tumbled backwards with a shriek, her shoulder smarting from the unexpected contact with such a hard body. When she looked up from her spot on the floor, sprawled out and exposed, Gaston was staring down at her.

His previous anger forgotten, the wide-eyed man was at a loss for words as he gazed down at the naked woman before him, her chest heaving, the perfect pink-tipped orbs rising and falling in time with her breathing.

What felt like an eternity passed between them, both watching each other, neither one saying a word. Belle felt a fire grow in her belly as embarrassment flushed her cheeks. Her modesty regained the helm at last, and Belle let out a shriek as she finally moved to cover herself.

" _Oh, my God!_ Gaston, what are you doing?" she barked. Her body seemed to shrink in on itself as she struggled to smother her small breasts with her arms, crossing her legs in front of her to hide her nether region.

When Gaston said nothing, but continued staring at her, his mouth agape and jaw working as if to say something and no sound coming out, Belle rose in haste and pushed past him. She hurried to her room and slammed the door without another look and turned the lock, bracing herself against it as she held a hand to her stomach, willing the butterflies there to calm themselves. It had been so long since a man had looked at her like _that_.

Hell, _none_ of them had ever looked at her like _that_. Like she was the most enticing thing in the world.

Gaston stood glued to his spot in the hallway. He didn't even hear Belle's door slam. His mind whirred, white noise filling his ears as the image of a flustered Belle– wet and in the nude on the floor before him– burned behind his eyelids. He felt a tightness in his pants, and when the usually very in-control and disciplined Gaston glanced down, he could see that he had a hardon.


	12. Chapter 12

"Are you ready yet?"

Gaston's voice vibrated through Belle's bedroom door.

The frustrated woman hobbled back and forth from one foot to the next, twisting her body in an attempt to reach the zipper on her back, but to no avail. She teetered on her black pumps, unaccustomed to wearing heels, and nearly fell twice. With a groan, she opened the door at last and was greeted by the sight of Gaston.

He stood just outside her door, dressed to the nines in a sleek, fitted tuxedo that seemed to have been tailored to fit him better than most of the suits he tended to wear. His silky, dark hair was slicked back with gel and tied into a ponytail. Seeing big, burly Gaston stuffed into a tux– complete with bowtie– would've normally made Belle laugh, but after the events of the day, she had to admit that he actually looked quite handsome, even with the dark bruise on his forehead– just looking at it made Belle wince.

"Could you…" Belle trailed off, gesturing over her shoulder as she turned away from him.

Swallowing with some difficulty, Gaston moved to grasp the zipper, trying his damnedest not to stare at the expanse of smooth flesh before him as he slid the zipper upward to the neck of Belle's dress, his knuckle lightly dragging along the exposed skin. The touch made Belle shiver.

"Thanks," she mumbled.

Turning back around to face him, Belle presented herself: she was wearing a plain, knee-length, form-fitting black sheath dress from Forever 21. It was the same dress she had purchased for her mother's funeral when she was 15, and although it had been cheap it was the nicest dress that Belle owned, so she saved it for special occasions such as this. Her body had filled out in the nine years she'd owned it, but the material was slightly stretchy and had a bit of give, hugging her feminine curves flatteringly. Belle thought it made her look sophisticated.

Her brown curls were piled and pinned atop her head, in Belle's best attempt at a "fancy" updo, with a few waves falling loose to hang about her face. She didn't wear any makeup, nor jewelry, and her pale, slender legs ended in simple pumps with three-inch heels.

Gaston took a moment to scan her up and down. Even without makeup she was naturally gorgeous, and he felt his heart twist into a knot when his eyes met hers. He remembered the words she had written about him and it made his gut ache, anger simmering just below the surface. He wanted to look deeper into her eyes, to find the truth hidden there, but instead he only _harrumphed_ and scowled.

"Well?" Belle asked impatiently. She threw her arms out to either side of herself, palms up, in a questioning gesture.

"I thought I told you to bring something _nice_ to wear," Gaston scoffed with annoyance. He seemed to be having trouble focusing on one thing, like a man emerging from a coma, out of his element and unfamiliar with his environment.

Belle felt her face burn. She crossed her arms and huffed. "Well, I don't have anything _nicer_."

"That dress won't do," he continued. His face took on a dazed look, and he seemed to be thinking about something. "Come with me."

–

Gaston led Belle down to the first floor, to the locked door at the end of the hallway just beside the staircase. He produced a large, cast-iron Victorian key from the pocket of his coat, and inserted the key into the lock, twisting it with a _click_. Intrigued, Belle peered around Gaston as the door swung open soundlessly.

The room inside was dimly lit, the faintest red-orange glow of the sunset outside peeking through a slit in the drawn velvet curtains. Gaston stepped aside, gesturing for Belle to enter first, and when she did he turned on a lamp behind her, filling the room with soft yellow light.

It seemed to be a parlor of sorts: an ancient-looking settee with carved legs sat on an Oriental rug before the fireplace, with a matching Louis XIV armchair on either side. The mantle was cluttered with a myriad of artifacts that seemed to originate from different cultures from around the world. Everything was set in deep shades of royal blue and indigo, accented by gilded wood and gold tones, and the entire room was covered in a musty film, as if it had sat untouched and uninhabited for an indeterminate amount of time.

"Who's room is this?" Belle asked, surprised by the finery.

"It belonged to my parents," Gaston answered, his voice even. "Now it's just storage."

The past tense of his words made Belle's stomach sink. "Your parents lived here?"

"This isn't just my hunting lodge," Gaston said solemnly, refusing to look at Belle. "It's my childhood home. I inherited it when my parents passed away."

Belle drooped her head in remorse, unable to look at anything but Gaston, but he was seemingly unaffected by his statement. He trudged off to the side and opened a door.

"Follow me."

She had never heard Gaston speak about his family; now she knew why.

The second room was a bedroom, nearly twice as large as Gaston's, with an enormous four-poster bed against the wall. Gaston moved over to a closet door and pulled it open, flipping on a light inside. Beside the closet was a vanity, on which sat a vintage jewelry box. Lifting it to his eye-level, Gaston blew the dust off of the top before setting it back down.

"You're probably about my mother's size," Gaston offered, motioning for Belle to enter the closet. "Go ahead and pick out something to wear."

"Your mother– I mean, you don't mind?"

When Gaston said nothing, his reticent blue eyes boring into her own tawny irises, Belle moved forward awkwardly, gently brushing past him. Both sides of the closet were lined with dresses, the thick tufts of colorful, shimmering fabric wisping against Belle as she walked to the back wall. She ran her hand along the rows and rows of chiffon and satin as she went, feeling the way the fabrics flowed against her fingers like cool water, amazed at how much tangible value could be hidden away in such a tiny space. She had never seen a designer gown in her life, let alone touched one; she had never even worn anything close to a gown, as the only opportunity in her life so far had been her own high school prom, which she had opted not to attend.

Something to Belle's right glinted, and she reached out to inspect it. It was a floor-length down, with heaps of layers of taupe-colored gossamer creating a mermaid-tail effect near the bottom; the bodice was structured and heavily detailed, with faceted golden bronze seed beads embroidered in an intricate floral pattern all the way around. The tag sewn into the lining read "Alexander McQueen." It looked like it would fit her.

"What about this one?" Belle asked tentatively, pulling the dress off of the hanger and holding it up for Gaston to see. He only shrugged. Belle took his facade of indifference for approval.

Walking towards Gaston, she waved towards her back with a hand. "Do you mind?"

Not needing to be asked twice, Gaston unzipped Belle's dress and instantaneously felt his cock twitch.

"I'll be in the other room. Feel free to pick out some jewelry as well," he muttered, moving away from the closet. Belle listened as his footfalls faded away into the parlor, puzzled by his off-putting behavior. It had to have something to do with being in his late parents' suite. The thought made Belle pity him.

She shuffled to change in the small space, stepping out of her dress and sliding into the gown, finding that it wrapped around her body easily, clinging to her frame like a second skin. The sheer fabric of the sleeves fell just below the crests of her shoulders, creating a sultry off-the-shoulder look that made Belle feel incredibly decadent. Even her breasts appeared larger, pushed up by the boning of the gown to give her ample cleavage. She understood now how some women could spend so much money on designer clothing. When she peeked in the vanity mirror beside the closet door, she looked and felt like a goddess– or a princess from a fairytale.

The jewelry box was another case of extravagant opulence altogether. She fingered the baubles and trinkets inside the case with a delicate touch, admiring the way they glittered even in the low light of the room. She had never really been one to accessorize, save for her mother's wedding ring that she occasionally wore on a silver chain around her neck. Even her ears had never been pierced.

Carefully rummaging through the box, she selected a sparkling diamond tennis bracelet and slipped it onto her wrist. She was able to find a pair of clip-on earrings, made up of a cluster of champagne-colored jewels, and applied those as well.

Not wanting to overdo it, Belle shut the lid and returned to the parlor.

When Belle entered the room, Gaston rose from his chair, his eyes drawing upwards from her feet to her face.

"Do I look alright?"

Of course, she was as stunning as ever– even more beautiful than Gaston had seen her, or any woman, look before. Seeing the object of his desires– who only viewed him as a monster incapable of human emotion– standing before him wearing his mother's gown, simultaneously willingly and unwillingly pretending to be his wife for the evening, culminated in a dangerously confusing cocktail of emotions; emotions that Gaston had never experienced, nor knew existed. He didn't know where to begin to address them and start dealing with them properly.

"You look…" Gaston's voice trailed off, and he shook his head as if to clear it. Belle wondered if it was difficult for him, to see another woman dressed in his mother's clothes, wearing her jewelry. They were _her_ belongings, after all– not Belle's.

When Gaston said nothing further, but only wiped his hair back with the palm of his hand, looking away from her, Belle became unsure of herself. She shifted uncomfortably on her feet.

"I'm sorry about your parents," Belle mumbled quietly, fingering the bracelet on her wrist. "My mother passed away when I was in high school. I know how you feel."

"How could you _possibly_ know how I feel?" Gaston snarled suddenly, turning his dark gaze on her. He rounded on Belle as she immediately cowered in fear, unable to tear her eyes away from his stormy irises as he towered over her. He was close enough to kiss, his hot breath ghosting across Belle's face, making her body tremble out of instinct.

"You think you're _so_ smart, but you don't know everything, and you don't know _me_. So stop trying to. Nobody likes a stuffy little know-it-all, and I like a suck-up even less."

"Hey, I'm just trying to help," Belle snapped back, her eyes inadvertently welling with tears.

"Yeah, you and everyone else," he huffed. Belle wasn't sure what Gaston meant, but she chose not to press further, afraid of being on the receiving end of another barrage of insults. His blue eyes were a deep sea of gray in the twilight of the room, his wrath like a tangible taste in her mouth.

"It'll do," he sneered finally, snapping his fingers towards Belle's dress as he backed away from her, the slightest glimmer of Gaston's usual cruel self shining through the murky aura that hung about him. "Come on– we're going to be late."

He strolled out the door then, but Belle hung back, taking a moment to catch her breath and blink back her tears.


	13. Chapter 13

The ride to the ball was excruciating.

When Monsieur had pulled around the car, Gaston made a beeline for the driver's side door, hesitating briefly before he went back around to open Belle's door for her. Shocked by the gentlemanly act but still unnerved from their earlier confrontation, Belle nodded her thanks and slid in wordlessly, being sure to gather all of the layers of her skirt inside the vehicle.

Gaston didn't utter a single word during the entire drive there, and Belle dared not be the one to initiate conversation. Instead, she watched the mountainous scenery pass as they went along in silence, enjoying the way the stars appeared one by one against the mauve backdrop of the sky at dusk. She never realized that upstate New York could be as beautiful as it was. But, Belle supposed, anywhere in the world could be beautiful in comparison to the slums of the city. She only regretted the circumstances that had brought her to be there in the first place.

Her mind whirled and spun, running a million miles a minute, as she mentally prepared herself for the oncoming evening. Belle had given Gaston's binder a quick once-over before they left, mostly to see if there was anything in there about his familial history to sate her own curiosity. While there had been a brief description of the meaning of his family name and crest, as well as the story of the first generation that had arrived in New York, there had been nothing about Gaston's parents. Not a single mention. Zip. Zero. Zilch.

And if he had any immediate family members, there had been no mention of them, either. As far as Belle knew, Gaston was all alone in the world.

It seemed to explain most, if not all, of his outlandish behaviors and habits.

With a macabre sort of fascination, Belle found herself wondering what could have happened to Gaston's parents to make him such a wreck. He obviously had some deep-seated issues regarding the topic, and if Belle had to guess, he may have never recognized nor dealt with the grief that resulted from his parents' deaths, pushing the emotions down into a hidden part of himself and allowing the roots of misery to anchor there, covering up his pain with a mask of masculinity and egomania. She found herself replaying all of her interactions with Gaston from the past year in her head, analyzing every detail, rethinking every snide remark and boisterous boast, searching for an explanation. It made Belle's head and heart ache.

Her sad gaze trailed across the dark interior of the car, down the green-blue lights that lined the dashboard, to land on the white-knuckled hand that gripped the stick; the tendons beneath the skin rolled as Gaston shifted gears, and she felt a strange urge to hold that hand course through her arm, causing her fingertips to twitch. Belle knew from experience how comforting human touch could be, especially in times of mourning; even something as simple as a pat on the hand could be all someone needed to feel validated, to know that somebody cared about them.

And if Belle had to admit it, maybe she had come to care for Gaston, if only a little. The idea surprised her, but as she pondered, she found that it definitely rang true.

Belle struggled with herself until they pulled up to the club and the car came to a complete stop, deciding, at last, that she should try to give Gaston some sort of support. She reached for his hand with her own, her heart beating madly in her chest.

The moment her fingers made contact with his skin, Gaston yanked his hand away as if Belle had burned him, whipping his head to look at her with wide eyes.

Belle faltered at his unexpected reaction but offered him a sincere smile. Before she could open her mouth to say anything to him, the parking valets were opening the car doors and ushering them out, taking the keys from Gaston and leaving the precarious couple at the curb.

When Belle turned to her escort, he appeared akin to a fearful deer: frozen to the spot, his unblinking eyes staring up at the building before them. The skin around his hairline seemed to be dampening with a sheer layer of perspiration, and his throat jiggled up and down as he swallowed. To say he seemed nervous would have been the understatement of the year.

The hunting club itself was an intimidating sight, an impressive mansion even in comparison to Gaston's own house. The historic Edwardian architecture stood three stories tall, with every window lit up, casting an orange glow across the pavement outside. The landscaping was perfectly manicured, and a few well-dressed guests stood chatting on the wraparound porch, the faint din of party sounds drifting on the warm evening breeze. A wooden sign advertising the name of the club stood off to the side of the freshly-cut lawn.

All tragic thoughts aside, tonight was the night. The night she would pretend to be Gaston's wife; to help him secure his membership, and to secure her own employment in return. They were partners now. They needed each other.

 _This is it,_ Belle thought. _It's now or never._

Without hesitation, Belle reached down between them and forced herself to take Gaston's hand in her own, giving it a gentle– yet reaffirming– squeeze. Gaston didn't flinch this time, but gave her a look that Belle would have interpreted as grateful if he hadn't looked so afraid. His tense muscles seemed to relax an inch.

 _It's just business._

The thing he had sought after for so long now seemed finally within his reach; whether that was the club membership or Belle, Gaston couldn't be sure.

 _We're only pretending._

"Ready?" Belle asked him, her brown eyes sparkling like the beaded bodice of her dress in the light emanating from the windows.

 _Come Monday morning, things will go back to the way they were; the way they're meant to be._

Gaston nodded and exhaled, releasing the breath from his lungs in a _whoosh_ of air. Together they walked forward, up the wooden steps, and into the front door, hand-in-hand the entire way.

–

 **This may be the shortest chapter of the story, but we're finally at the main event! Again, thank you all for reading and reviewing. Next chapter coming soon. :-)**


	14. Chapter 14

Belle watched as Gaston transformed right before her very eyes when they stepped into the building, as if he were an actor who had just been given his cue. He was all teeth, grinning and greeting anyone and everyone they passed as they made their way inside. He seemed to know a few people and he called them by name, while others he took the effort to introduce himself to, dragging Belle along as he offered everyone he met a handshake.

Ever since she was a child, Belle had never quite felt like she fit in anywhere, but especially here among the elite upper crust of society, she was sure she stuck out even more as an outsider. Yet no one seemed to notice, and the first time Gaston introduced her as _his_ _wife_ to an overweight man with gray hair, the stuffy aristocrat's eyes seemed to light up, kissing the back of her hand in earnest.

"He's the Treasurer of the club," Gaston murmured as an aside when the man had walked away from them, and Belle nodded her understanding. It was a large party, with at least 100 or so guests, and Belle was sure she wouldn't be able to remember all of them. It was a tad overwhelming to see so many finely-dressed strangers in such a luxurious space. As the brown-haired woman looked around, she also realized that, at only 24 years of age, she was easily the youngest person in attendance.

Gaston had gone across the room to grab them something to drink from the bar, leaving his fake wife by herself. Dinner would soon be served in the great dining hall, but for now Belle stood off to the side, picking nervously at a beige thread that had come loose in the hip of her gown, looking down to avoid making eye contact with anybody. She could feel their eyes on her, could hear their whispers about her beauty, and the unwanted attention made Belle yearn to run out the nearest door.

"Are you lost?" a masculine voice boomed, and Belle spun around to see an unknown man staring at her with squinted eyes. He was tall, almost as tall as Gaston, but older, with olive skin, bushy eyebrows that matched his mustache, and curly dark brown hair that was graying at the temples.

"Uhm, no," Belle replied awkwardly, sucking in her lower lip nervously. The last thing she wanted was to be stuck talking to someone without Gaston. "I'm just waiting for my... husband."

"The beautiful ones are always taken," the man lamented sourly, the heavy timbre of his voice reverberating in Belle's ears like a growl.

Gaston returned then with their drinks, and Belle felt a wave of relief wash over herself at seeing him. He handed Belle a glass of something light and fizzy, then used his newly-freed hand to clap the strange man on the back.

"Bouche, what are you doing over here with my wife? Shouldn't you be chasing after your own?"

The man scoffed, loudly. " _She's_ the one always chasing me. I can't even get a goddamn minute alone to piss!"

Both men howled with laughter then, as if they had shared some hilarious inside joke that Belle failed to understand.

" _There you are!_ " a voice sing-songed, and Belle looked to see a pleasantly plump woman with frizzy blonde hair approach their small group, holding her own flute of champagne. Her incredibly long acrylic nails were painted a vivid shade of scarlet that matched her lipstick, and on each and every finger she wore a bejeweled ring. The rest of her person was just as decorated as her fingers, Belle noticed, with layers of pearls and diamonds around her neck and wrists. Her sparkly chandelier earrings hung low enough to brush the cap sleeves of her sage-colored chiffon dress. Belle could see that her skin had a slight wrinkle to it, and was covered in brown spots and freckles, evidently from years of sun exposure.

"Belle, this is Bouche, and this is his wife, Big Mouth," Gaston introduced in jest, placing his hand on the small of Belle's back, causing her to arch slightly. "Guys, this is my wife, Belle."

"Hey, that's _Mrs._ Big Mouth to you," the woman chortled with a wink. "But you can just call me Madame. Everyone else does."

The woman called Madame seemed to stiffen then, her thick false lashes blinking repeatedly and rapidly in succession as she registered Gaston's words.

"Hold on," she said with a start, her drink sloshing in its glass. "This pretty little thing is your _wife?_ "

"Settle down, Joanne," Bouche scolded mildly, causing his wife to hit him in the arm.

"Shut up, _Brian_ ," she snapped, her voluptuous chest jiggling from the effort of her punch. Her tone wasn't wholly angry; more than anything, she seemed disappointed. "The boy's run off and gotten himself hitched and we weren't even invited to the wedding."

Bouche rolled his eyes and took a swig from his glass of red wine, obviously indifferent to the topic. "He's not a _boy_ , he can get married if he damn well pleases."

Madame scoffed, offended. "We practically raised him like the son we never had! How could you not care about something as important as this?"

As the oblivious older couple delved further into their bickering, a bewildered Belle turned to Gaston for some sort of clarification. He only shrugged, as if this was completely normal, and sipped his whiskey. Belle followed his lead, taking a sip of her own drink; it was bubbly and tingled her lips and tongue. When she sniffed it, it smelled like fermented citrus. She had never had champagne before, but didn't find the taste altogether unpleasant. Each sip of the butter-colored liquid went down smoother than the last, and soon she found that she had downed her entire flute in only a few minutes.

The dinner bell rang then, and Belle suddenly found herself wrapped up by a pair of cushiony, feminine arms.

" _Dinner time,_ " Madame sang into her ear, ushering the younger woman along eagerly. "You're at our table. And I am simply _dying_ to hear _all about_ you and our Gaston!"

–

Unsurprisingly, Belle was sat beside Gaston at dinner. He had even pulled out her chair for her, and Belle had to remind herself that he was only playing the part of a gentleman to give a good impression as her fake husband.

Etiquette seemed to dictate an alternating man-woman seating arrangement, and so on Belle's left-hand side sat Bouche, then beside him sat his wife, then Cogsworth, and then three empty chairs. When Bouche inquired about Mrs. Cogsworth's absence, the portly man muttered an uncomfortable excuse about trouble with the missus, and that was the end of the discussion.

Belle assumed the other two were reserved for Lumiere and his wife, neither of whom appeared at any point during the course of the meal.

"So, Belle," Madame purred, leaning forward. "How did you and Gaston meet?"

"At work," both Belle and Gaston inadvertently answered simultaneously.

Madame laughed. "Look at them, Brian, already so in sync."

Bouche grunted, too engrossed in his soup to be bothered.

"When did you know?" Madame asked, her jovial green eyes fixed on Belle; they were permanently creased with smile lines.

Confused, Belle scrunched her face. "Know what?"

"That he was ' _The One!'_ " the older woman sang in a melodic tone.

"Oh," was all Belle could manage, looking to Gaston with her amber eyes, silently pleading for an answer. Gaston smirked at her, his blue eyes full of mischief.

"Go ahead, _dear_ ," he egged her on. "Tell the story."

Belle narrowed her eyes. "No, _dear_ , I really think _you_ should tell the story. You love telling it, after all."

"Honey, I _insist_ ," Gaston bellowed with vigor, slamming his open palm on the table. Belle gave him the most threatening stare she could manage and he only grinned.

Hiding her annoyance, Belle turned back to the group, trying to come up with the words when an idea clicked into her head, like somebody flipping on a switch.

 _He wants me to do all the dirty work? Fine. Then we're going to do it_ my _way._

"Well," Belle began, adjusting her napkin in her lap as she straightened up. The creative writer inside herself was ready for action. "It was Gaston who made the first move. _Moves_ , actually."

An intrigued silence fell over the table, as everyone focused on Belle. Even Gaston sat up a little straighter in his chair.

"He was so _desperate_ ," she laughed, playing it off as though she found Gaston's behavior charming. "He would ask me out _daily_ , sometimes twice a day. And he was _always_ trying so hard to impress me. I thought it was actually kind of pathetic, the way he was always bugging me, and–"

"Actually, _sweetie_ ," Gaston interrupted with a nervous chuckle, leaning over the table in an attempt to overshadow her. "I think you're remembering incorrectly. It was _you_ who wanted to get with _me_ , remember?"

Belle tapped a finger to her lips and acted as though she were trying to recall. "No, no… I _distinctly_ remember _you_ being the one who followed me all around the office like a lovesick puppy."

From the other side of the table, Belle heard Cogsworth snicker. When she glanced at Gaston from out of the corner of her eye, she could see him pursing his lips, his face flushed with embarrassment.

 _Got him._

"Anyway," Belle continued. "This went on for _months_. He just would not give up. Then one day, I came into my office to see this _giant_ bouquet of flowers of flowers on my desk. I felt so bad for him, the little softie, that I finally agreed to a date. Isn't that right, Gaston?"

Gaston gritted his teeth, humming his reluctant agreement.

"Fast forward a few months, and here we are." Belle smiled smugly at him. Reaching for her glass of wine, she took a victorious swig as Madame clapped her hands excitedly.

"Oh, my sweet boy!" she hollered. "We never thought he would settle down."

"Never," Bouche agreed with his wife.

" _Never,_ " Madame reiterated for emphasis, clasping a hand to her heart. Belle couldn't help but giggle and Gaston groaned.

"Alright, enough," he snapped, his face marred with disgust. "Can't we enjoy our meal in peace?"

"No," Madame and Belle both answered in unison, giggling together.

The rest of dinner was rather uneventful. After Gaston spent some time bragging about both his career and his hunting prowess, the men began discussing the upcoming season while Belle did her best to answer all of Madame's questions, telling the older woman about her line of work and even her dreams of becoming a published author; when Gaston eavesdropped, listening in on the women's conversation with a raised eyebrow, Belle didn't notice.

Madame, in turn, told Belle about her life as a celebrity stylist, going on and on about how she used to travel all over the world, working on fashion shows, movie sets, and the like. It was actually rather fascinating to Belle, who found herself quickly growing fond of the older woman.

After dinner, Madame stopped Belle as she rose to join the rest of the guests in the ballroom for after-dinner cocktails and dancing, letting the others leave while they stayed behind. Gaston shot her a questioning look but Madame shooed him away. With one last quizzical look at Belle, he disappeared with the others into the ballroom.

"My _goodness_ , you are such a doll," she began, taking Belle's hand in her own. Her skin was soft and smooth. "I can't even begin to express how happy I am for you two."

Belle swallowed hard. She was starting to feel sorry about lying to such a kindly woman. "Thank you. We're very… in love."

The words felt peculiar on Belle's tongue.

"I can see that," Madame agreed, her eyes twinkling. Then, her usually musical voice dropped to a serious whisper. "I never thought I'd see him love anyone ever again. Not after his parents died– bless their souls."

Belle nodded, unsure of what to say. Her mouth went dry and she wished for nothing more than another glass of champagne to calm her nerves.

"He's different now, you know," Madame continued, her eyes misting over. "I can tell. I've been like an aunt to him since the day he was born. He used to be such a good-hearted, fun-loving boy. After his parents passed away, he became– well, _horrid_. He was moody and depressed. And _angry_. Refused to let anybody in. But now… you've changed him."

She dabbed at her eye with her fingertips: "You've changed him for the better. I can see it in the way he looks at you."

Madame pulled the younger woman into an embrace then, squeezing Belle tightly to her chest, the way a mother would hold her daughter.

"I'm so thankful for you. Thank you for loving him."

Belle hugged the older woman back, the icy cold tendrils of guilt– and something else– snaking into her heart.

–

 **Side note: For those of you wondering (or if you didn't guess), Brian Bouche is based off of the stove/chef and Madame Joanne is based off of the wardrobe.**

 **Also, the character of Monsieur is based off of the bookkeeper in the movie ;-)**


	15. Chapter 15

"What was that about?" Gaston asked out of the side of his mouth when Belle caught up with her fake husband in the ballroom, nudging his head in Madame's direction as she and Bouche strolled off into the crowd to mingle with other guests. The brown-haired woman waved off his question with a shake of her head, a few strands of her brunette tresses falling loose from the motion. Gaston raised an eyebrow at her, but didn't press the issue further.

"I need a drink," Belle breathed, glancing about the room at the dancing couples and clusters of people. Reaching behind himself, Gaston lifted a flute of champagne from the bartop and handed it to his fake wife, who accepted it gratefully. In three large gulps, the glass was empty, and Belle wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, _ahhhing_ as she felt the golden liquid warm her belly upon impact.

It was probably unladylike as hell, but Belle wasn't worried about that at the moment; she was more concerned with the caged butterflies in her abdomen that had not settled down since Madame had thanked her for "loving" Gaston.

"Another."

Gaston gave her a scowl, and Belle flattened her lips into a thin line. "Please."

Reluctantly, Gaston produced another glass and passed it to his fake wife, eyeing her with a look that Belle couldn't decipher– and didn't care to. She made a visible effort to pace herself with this one, taking only a small sip to appease Gaston. When he felt sure that she wouldn't chug the beverage like a freshman at a frat party, he turned his attention back to his conversation with Cogsworth.

" _Bonsoir, Mesdames et Messieurs!_ I do apologize for my tardiness," Lumiere announced in his unmistakable accent as he approached the little gang they had formed near the bar. While the other men in the room all looked similar in their penguin tuxedos, the Frenchman had opted for a suit that appeared to be made of crushed aubergine-colored velvet. "I'm afraid my wife and I decided to skip dinner and go straight to _dessert_."

The innuendo was not lost on them, and a chuckle rippled through the small group. Belle snorted into her glass of champagne, which was already more than halfway gone; being as much of a lightweight as she was, the young woman's limbs were already beginning to feel heavy, her head buzzing with a pleasant tipsiness. She found that she was immensely enjoying the feeling of inebriation, which she hadn't experienced since her last date with Adam, months earlier.

A young woman skipped up to Lumiere's side; she was perhaps only a few years older than Belle, her luscious auburn hair cut in a voluminous, face-framing bob style that stopped just short of her generous bosom, the ends of her short locks just barely teasing the top of her pale, sharp shoulders. She wore a nude-colored, A-line gown overlaid with black lace, with simple spaghetti straps that laced up her back like a corset. A long slit was cut in the side of the skirt, giving a sensual peek at the slender leg beneath the dress.

"Ah! Gaston, Belle, zees eez my wife, Babette," Lumiere purred as he pulled the woman closer, planting kisses up and down his wife's arm. " _Mon ange_ , zees eez Gaston and his charming _wife_ , Belle."

"Oh, please," the woman squealed delightedly as Lumiere's lips moved to her neck, her thick French accent as evident as her husband's, rolling her eyes in mock humility. "Call me Fifi."

"Pleasure to meet you," Belle offered as politely as she could, diverting her eyes awkwardly away from the couple's public display of affection. She wobbled a bit, leaning into Gaston briefly before righting herself. Gaston's flinch at the physical contact was noticeable.

Suddenly, Fifi gasped.

"Darling, where eez your ring?" she asked curiously, eyeing Belle's left hand.

"My ring?" Belle asked, puzzled, but then her face paled. She glanced at Gaston, who looked equally as affected. Despite all their planning and pretenses, they forgot perhaps the most important detail of their fake marriage: the fake ring.

Belle glanced down at her hand, at the naked ring finger curled around her flute of champagne.

"Deed you leave eet in zee bathroom?" The red-haired woman suggested with genuine concern; her own white diamond glittered from its place on her finger.

"My ring…" Belle repeated, her mind swimming with drink, looking once more to Gaston for confirmation. He nervously stuck a finger in his collar to loosen it. He hadn't ever thought of the ring, nor an excuse for its absence.

 _Oh no_ , Belle thought. _I've held up my end of the deal. I won't lose my chance at getting my job back because of something as silly as a wedding ring– or, rather, the lack thereof._

The creative writer inside of Belle tapped her on the metaphoric shoulder, encouraging her once more to use her talents to save the evening.

"Gaston, _sweetie_ ," she started with a sigh, her voice as smooth as honey despite the sarcastic inflection she placed on the term. Before this day, she'd never imagined that she'd ever call Gaston by a pet name. "I can't keep up this pretense any longer. Perhaps it's time we tell these fine gentlemen the _truth_."

Gaston's eyes widened at her proposition. His jaw went slack and he cleared his throat in a threatening way.

"Belle," he warned. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm afraid we've been lying to you all," Belle admitted to their circle of acquaintances, ignoring the silent protests of her fake husband. "I don't have a ring… because we're not married."

Just like that, their cover was blown. A wide-eyed Gaston stared at his fake wife with his mouth agape, the fingers holding his whiskey trembling. Whether they were trembling with anger or anxiety, Belle couldn't be sure, but she continued speaking anyway.

" _Yet_. We're not married, _yet_. Truth be told, we're only _engaged_."

Belle tried her best to use a sultry, slightly apologetic tone, to play it off as if she was doing these people a favor by letting them in on their secret. Gaston went rigid beside her but let her go on without interruption.

"Oh!" Belle's hand flew to her forehead for dramatic effect. It was so perfectly Shakespearean, Belle was sure she deserved an award. "It was the most _romantic_ proposal. Wasn't it, Gaston?"

The aforementioned man was too astonished to respond.

"It was on our trip to Paris," Belle continued, making up the story as she went; she had read more than enough books and seen enough movies for inspiration. "There we were, standing on the top of the Eiffel Tower, and Gaston turns to me and he just– just gives me this _look_. And he goes, 'Belle, before I met you, I didn't know who I was. I was like a man lost at sea, without so much as a paddle or rudder, drifting through life without any purpose or direction. I want to– no, I _need_ to– spend the rest of my days with you by my side… _as my wife._ '"

Lumiere was enthralled by the story as Fifi clung to his arm for support, looking as though she may swoon at any moment. Cogsworth seemed uncomfortably out of place, his focus darting around the room as he tipped back the rest of his drink.

"It was so– sudden! So spontaneous. He didn't even have a ring! And I knew, right then and there–" Belle reached between them and gripped Gaston's hand in her own, a bit too tightly, and looked into his eyes as lovingly as she could manage. "–that he was the only one for me."

Gaston gave her a terse nod, impressed by her act, but urged her with his eyes to quit while they were ahead. She was getting a bit carried away for his liking. But, under the influence of alcohol, Belle was having way too much fun to stop now.

"We're going to go shopping for a ring in the city very soon. Gaston has told me that I can pick out _any_ ring I want. And you'll _all_ have to come to the wedding! We decided on an autumn wedding– the orange of the leaves would really bring out the blue of his eyes, don't you think? You can all stay at our lodge– we have _more_ than enough space to accommodate everybody, don't we, dear? And we just _love_ having guests."

Fifi panted in excitement, releasing an audible moan that caused a few heads near the small group to turn in their direction. "Oh, _ma Belle!_ Zat ees _so_ _romantic!_ Of course we would love to come!"

Gaston elbowed Belle and she jerked slightly, playing it off as if she was drunkenly teetering on her heels– which wasn't _entirely_ improvised– giving her audience a ditzy smile for good measure.

Lumiere lifted his glass to his lips and smiled. "Ah, young love. We were once just like you. Weren't we, _mon chou?_ "

" _Oui, mon couer,_ " Fifi cooed back, her eyes glazing over as she allowed herself to be wrapped up in her husband's embrace. "I knew you were zee one for me from zee first time you kissed me."

"Eet's all in zee kiss," Lumiere whispered, tilting his wife's chin upward and leaning down to crush his mouth to hers. A joyful squeak escaped Fifi's throat and within moments they were inseparable, swapping saliva with impressive technique.

Belle averted her gaze from the loving couple, downing the rest of her sparkling wine to hide her amused smirk; Gaston watched them go at it with a grotesque sort of interest, sipping his whiskey, while Cogsworth cleared his throat loudly to get their attention. After what felt like an eternity, the two lovebirds finally separated with a _pop_.

"Come, come," Lumiere urged, raising his glass of brandy in Gaston's direction. "Show us zee kiss."

Gaston choked on his drink and began coughing.

Belle's throat tightened, and when she tried to speak it came out a bit more frightened than she intended: "The _what?_ "

Lumiere urged them on, rattling the ice cubes in his glass. "A kiss! Give us a kiss!"

After regaining his composure from his coughing fit, Gaston _ahem'd_ into his fist and began eagerly scanning his eyes across the room, searching for a waiter to bring him another drink, leaving Belle to frantically look from her fake husband to the waiting faces of their peers and back again, seeking an answer.

"No, I– I don't think we should," Belle stammered. "I'm afraid I ate too many garlic potatoes at dinner. Ha!" She covered her mouth for effect.

"Oh, _absurdité!_ He _loves_ you, _mon amie_ , garlic breath and all," the Frenchman asserted, gesturing towards Gaston with a wink. "I could see eet in his eyes from zee moment you walked in. I know love when I see love. And zee kiss will tell us _everything_."

His amber eyes glinted; then, he laughed: "Now, go ahead and kiss already!"

Suddenly, Gaston's hand was on her face, gently grasping Belle's jaw and turning her to face him. Before she could protest, his surprisingly soft lips were pressed to hers, sending a lightning bolt of desire shooting through Belle's body, straight down from her head to her toes. Within seconds, Belle found herself kissing him back with parted lips, closing her eyes as she reached up to grab at the wispy hairs at the back of Gaston's neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss. He obliged, stepping closer to Belle as he deepened their connection, aligning the front of his body with her own, kissing her needily and with a passion that neither of them had ever dreamed could be possible.

When they pulled apart at last, something unnamed passed between the two of them as they gazed into each other's eyes, blue boring into brown, breathing heavily; then the world came crashing in, the sounds of the string music wafting over the chatter of the room, and they were reminded harshly of where they were, and what they were doing there.

Gaston looked away first. Cogsworth, Lumiere, and Fifi had all been stunned into silence by what they had witnessed, and they stared at the couple in awe.

"Zat was… _beautiful_ ," Lumiere whimpered, wiping a single tear from his eye.

Belle had done it. She had kissed Gaston– her egotistical, pain-in-the-ass boss who had done nothing but harass, belittle, and undermine her for the past year– and it had been _wonderful_.

She abruptly felt very dizzy, finding it increasingly difficult to stay balanced. Her knees gave out and she stumbled into Gaston, pressing her cheek to the lapel of his tux, inhaling his scent as she struggled to catch her breath; he smelled earthy, like pine and musk. Gaston's bulky arm reached out and wrapped around Belle's waist to hold her upright.

"Do excuse us, gentlemen– and gentle lady," Gaston apologized as he turned Belle away from them. "I'm afraid my wi– erm, fiancee– has had a bit too much to drink."

Their peers chortled good-naturedly in response.

"Come on, honey," Gaston managed through clenched teeth. "Let's go outside and get you some air."

Dazed, Belle allowed herself to be led away to the terrace, managing to snatch up another glass of champagne on the way out.


	16. Chapter 16

As soon as they reached the edge of the outdoor terrace, Gaston released Belle from his hold to rummage around inside his suit pockets, producing a pack of Marlboros and a lighter. His thick fingers fumbled with the carton, but he managed to pull out a single cigarette and stick the butt of it into his mouth. He flipped the Zippo open to bring it to life, raised the flame to the end of the stick, and puffed a few times to light it. After a moment, he returned the lighter to his pocket and removed the cig from between his lips, balancing it between his pointer and middle fingers; even in the dark, Belle could see that his hand was trembling.

The terrace was expansive, its stone surface jutting out from the double-doors at the back of the ballroom, and had an incredible view overlooking the hunting club's forested property. The moonless nighttime sky was speckled with thousands of pinpricks of starlight, and the horizon sat heavy with the black silhouettes of the mountains. A few couples loitered nearby, chatting quietly amongst themselves, basking in the perfectness of the evening. The air had a bit of a nip to it, and Belle rubbed her bare arms up and down with her hands to try to warm herself, her champagne sloshing as she did so.

"That was good, Belle," Gaston mused, exhaling smoke with his statement. He sounded almost bitter, much like a scorned lover. "Very convincing. Well done."

"Gaston." It was all Belle could manage to say.

"Have you ever considered being an actress? Really, that was Oscar-worthy. I think you're in the wrong line of work."

"Gaston," Belle repeated, reaching for his arm; he yanked it out of her reach. "Maybe we should talk about what happened back there when you kissed me–"

"It was just a pretend kiss between a pretend husband and his pretend wife," Gaston snarled cruelly, taking a long drag of his cigarette as he looked out over the yard below. "Stop trying to make this more than what it is. It's strictly business."

Belle shook her head, acutely aware of the blood humming in her ears, thanks to the effects of the alcohol she had been imbibing all night. The kiss had been so much more...

"I don't believe you."

"I'm not asking you to believe me, Belle," the brawny man replied coolly. "Just stating facts."

Sighing, Belle leaned back against the railing beside Gaston, careful to keep enough of a distance between them. She swirled her drink around, watching the bubbly twirl around the sides of the glass. "I didn't know you smoked."

"There's a lot of things you don't know about me. Like I said before– you don't know me."

"Maybe I'd like to."

"Don't get too attached to me, Belle," Gaston warned, his voice laced with threat. "That wasn't part of our deal."

Anger swelled in Belle's chest. "So, what, suddenly you want nothing to do with me? What about all those times you tried hitting on me? All the times you asked me out to dinner? What was that?"

Gaston shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Maybe I just thought you were a hot piece of ass and I was only trying to get you into my bed. Did you ever consider _that?_ "

Belle groaned. She downed the remainder of her flute of champagne all at once, but it did little to wash the taste of Gaston from the inside of her mouth. "You really _are_ a pig."

" _There it is,_ " he sing-songed in a _ta-da_ tone of voice, like a magician revealing his trick. He took a puff of his cigarette. "You got me all figured out."

Belle thought of Madame's words; all Gaston needed was someone to show him some compassion, for someone to make the effort to get to know him– to care about him.

And as Gaston's temporary wife-for-hire, Belle felt she was the best candidate for the job.

"I know this 'tough guy' facade isn't really you. The _real_ you," Belle scolded. "I'm sorry your parents died, but you should talk about your feelings instead of lashing out at people. I'm here for you, Gaston... you can talk to me."

He took one last inhale before stubbing out his cigarette and flipping it over the balcony edge. He ran a hand over the top of his head, smoothing back his hair.

"Why do you give a fuck, Belle?"

"Because under this– this– _defense_ _mechanism_ – I can tell that you're not such a bad guy. If you would channel your emotions in a _healthy_ way instead of acting out for attention and then pushing people away–"

"Look at me, Belle," Gaston growled suddenly, grabbing Belle roughly by the shoulders and turning her to face him. "I'm nothing but a monster to you, aren't I? A horrible, hideous _beast?_ "

Gaston scanned her frightened face, searching for an answer there. He had read her book; he knew exactly what she thought of him.

With trepidation, Belle raised her fingertips to Gaston's temple, stroking tenderly down and along his cheek, across his jaw, and over his lips. She took in his blue eyes flanked by soft, dark lashes; his slightly crooked nose; his high cheekbones; his shapely brows; the dimple in his chin. He truly was a handsome man.

But beneath his cloudy irises, Belle could see the sadness that lingered there; a secret pain that he refused to show to anyone.

"All I see," she murmured, her voice shaking; the hand holding her champagne glass wobbled slightly. "Is a man… begging to be loved."

His face softened considerably at the sincerity in her words and his grip on her shoulders slackened.

"What happened to your parents?" Belle's voice was a whisper. She turned her hand against his warm skin, her knuckles stroking lightly across his cheekbone. "What happened to _you?_ "

The sound of her voice was incredibly soothing and Gaston found himself inadvertently letting his guard down. Eyes fluttering closed, he leaned instinctively into her touch, imagining how nice it _would_ be to tell her everything, to let her hold him while he let it out, releasing all of the years of pent-up sadness and frustration... but instead Gaston sighed and wrapped his fingers around her delicate wrist, pulling her hand away from his face. "Belle, you're getting too wrapped up in all of this. It isn't real. You don't actually care about me."

"Try me."

"You're drunk."

"I'm not _that_ drunk."

"Just drop it."

" _No._ "

Belle stared him down, willing him to back away from her. Gaston chuckled then– it was a pathetic, self-pitying sort of sound.

"You know, I think you're the only woman who's ever told me 'no,'" he laughed half-heartedly. "Hell, you may be the first _person_ who's dared to say 'no'' to my face since my parents died. Maybe that's why I've pursued you so aggressively, Belle… you're an anomaly in my life."

He dropped her hand then, and Belle allowed it to fall listlessly to her side.

"Either way," Gaston mumbled, his voice getting weaker. "You've held up your end of our arrangement. You really– you did great in there."

The praise was genuine; Belle could tell when his broad shoulders seemed to slump with defeat.

"We don't have to stop now," Belle whispered, dropping her last thread of resistance at last, letting her emotions take over. "We can keep pretending, just for tonight."

She wanted to comfort Gaston; wanted to prove to him that someone cared– that _she_ cared. That he didn't have to act like a jerk to get the attention he craved. That he didn't have to be alone anymore.

Gaston's eyes darkened.

"Just for tonight?" he murmured, contemplating her proposition. He never looked away from Belle as her hand reached up to touch the lapel of his jacket, gently fingering the material.

Gaston inhaled a laborious breath before he spoke again: "Kiss me."

It was a command. Belle blinked, slow to respond, her eyelids heavy from the wine coursing through her veins. "Here? Where everyone can see us?"

"What does it matter?" Gaston pulled her closer. "We're husband and wife."

 _Maybe it's not pretend._

"Are we really doing this?" Belle asked breathlessly, her voice tainted with nervous excitement. Gaston stepped forward and cupped her face in his hands, tipping her head back and leaning down to kiss her deeply, deeper than he had earlier in the ballroom, deeper than any man had ever kissed her before. The fabric of his lapels fisted in her grip and Belle felt her knees go weak again, the way people in romantic novels always said they would. He pressed his entire body against her, pushing her back against the railing, as his mouth moved against her lips, causing Belle to melt into him, snaking her arms around his neck to kiss him back, giving in to her urges without a second thought.

 _Maybe, somewhere along the way, this became something real._

–

Gaston kissed her, slow and deep, and Belle reciprocated, allowing him to part her lips with his prodding tongue. They were back in Gaston's bedroom, the events of the previous night nothing more than a distant memory; it was apparent that somebody had cleaned up the shards of glass at some point, because when Belle kicked off her heeled shoes, she felt nothing but soft carpet beneath her feet.

Gaston broke their kiss and turned Belle to face away from him, guiding her in a semi-circle with his hands, to reach the zipper on her back; he took his time pulling it down, his fingers brushing over her spine as he spread the dress apart, feeling his cock respond to the softness of her warm, unmarred skin beneath his calloused fingertips.

Belle shivered at the slightest touch from Gaston. She couldn't remember the last time she had wanted anyone so badly. Her intoxicated body was primed and ready, reminding her of how easily she could get excited back when she was still a virgin; she had spent the majority of the drive home from the ball crossing and uncrossing her legs, squeezing her thighs together to seek some sort of relief. Something about Gaston was causing her to lose herself, and she didn't dare try to analyze the reasons why right now. She'd go along with what was happening– give in to her urges– and figure out her feelings later.

It was a plan that was easily the complete opposite of what she usually did.

Fully unzipped, the dress slid down Belle's body to pool around her feet in a heap of gauzy organza. The cool air of the room hit Belle's naked skin immediately, causing tiny goosebumps to rise across her flesh. Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, Belle turned back around to face the dark-haired man pretending to be her husband for the night, steeling herself for whatever inappropriate comments were going to come next.

The room was dark, save for the dim bedside lamp that Gaston usually left on, but despite the low light he could see all of her, his hungry eyes drinking in the sight of her nude form; he had already seen Belle in her birthday suit under the unfortunate circumstances of earlier that day, but this time he took the chance to really take her in.

Her frame was slim, but soft and fleshy in all the right places; her porcelain-pale breasts were small but shapely, and she didn't have a single freckle or mole anywhere on her ivory skin. Gaston had frequently imagined how perfect her body could be under the rather conservative, ill-fitting clothes she wore on a daily basis, but none of his fantasies came anywhere near to being as correct as the vision standing before him. She was like a real-life painting of a Roman goddess; she was exquisite.

His voice was barely audible as he brought his hands up to her shoulders, looking Belle directly in the eyes and saying with meaning: "You are so beautiful."

Surprised by the honesty, Belle trembled under his gaze, simultaneously feeling incredibly vulnerable and aroused. Gaston leaned his head down to kiss her swollen lips, taking his time to savor her, his touch surprisingly gentle as he trailed his hot lips down her neck, along her bare shoulders, rubbing himself against her as he did so.

Belle's mind flashed back to her last time with Adam, how rough and inconsiderate he had been, and she perceptively winced. The marks he had left on her skin had taken weeks to heal. In comparison, Gaston was treating her quite tenderly, cupping a firm breast in the palm of his hand as his mouth moved over one tight, pink nipple, suckling and flicking it with his tongue, causing Belle to squirm in his hold. She had never imagined that someone like Gaston could manage such intimacy.

However, he was taking too long for Belle's liking; she was going to show him that he was wanted– that she needed him.

Belle took a step back and fell backwards on the bed, pulling her fake husband with her, feeling a sudden sharp pain in her side as Gaston crawled on top of her body, kissing her like mad. His mouth tasted deliciously like spiced whiskey. When Belle wiggled in discomfort, Gaston reached underneath her and removed some sort of book– without breaking their connection– and tossed it towards the armchair. She didn't get a good look at it, and frankly, she was too preoccupied with trying to remove Gaston's tuxedo jacket to care, pushing it off and down his bulky shoulders.

He lifted himself up, working quickly to be rid of his cumbersome clothes. Within seconds Gaston was completely undressed, and when he returned to realign his body on top of Belle's, his rigid member made contact with Belle in a spot that made them both gasp.

"I need you inside me, Gaston," Belle panted, emboldened by the drink, her head swimming with heady lust, already soaking wet and aching. " _Now._ "

Hooking a leg around his waist, Belle managed to flip them both over so that she was on top, giving herself a brief moment to line up Gaston's manhood with her entrance and sinking herself down on him before he could protest. The burly man threw his head back and groaned from the sensation.

Belle wasn't normally a fan of being on top, but she found that something about Gaston's length and girth fit her just right as she straddled him. She rolled her hips a few times to test the waters, moaning and mewling with each movement, her updo coming apart and causing her long hair to fall loose in waves over her shoulders from the motion.

"Fuck, Belle," Gaston hissed, his thick fingers gripping the meat of her thighs, guiding her with increasing urgency. His own voice slurred from booze.

Over and over she moved, rocking back-and-forth on top of Gaston, sighing her pleasure. Her breasts swayed in rhythm as she rode him, her rosy nipples hard and taut in the open air. Belle swore that no man had ever felt this good inside her.

"I'm your husband," Gaston managed through clenched teeth. Belle nodded hastily in response, her delirious gaze locking with his as she moved.

Closing her eyes, Belle dared to imagine that Gaston truly _was_ her husband, uttering a soft cry at the way her abdomen coiled in response to the thought.

" _Yes,_ " she breathed out, mindlessly grabbing at her own chest, seeking more pleasure.

Seeing her in such a way was Gaston's undoing.

Grabbing her by the waist, Gaston rolled Belle beneath him, losing himself in her as he took control, frantically pumping in and out of her in a sudden change of pace that caused Belle to shriek. He leaned over Belle, moving his mouth to her neck to nip at the hot flesh there.

"And you're my wife," Gaston growled into Belle's ear as he pounded mercilessly into her. "Tell me you love me."

"I– I–" The words stuck in Belle's throat and she choked back a sob. Her nails dug into Gaston's back as she held on, her pleasure heightening in response to the sound of his voice commanding her with such intimate words, her body jostling from the impact of his thrusts.

"Tell me," Gaston demanded again; the movement of his hips was starting to become jagged and erratic. His thumb found its way between them to the bud at the apex of Belle's thighs and rubbed, bringing her quickly to the edge and urging her to give in to Gaston's request.

Pretend or not, he needed to hear it– from her.

"I love you," Belle ground out through her panting; the words were strangled and desperate. " _I love you._ "

As soon as the words left her tongue she convulsed in orgasm, her back arching off of the bed as she cried out. Gaston came soon after, pulling himself from her and spilling onto Belle's stomach with a shout, grunting as his own body trembled and seized atop her with the force of his own orgasm.

They stayed like that for a moment, trying to return their breathing to normal, staring at each other with lidded eyes; the undeniable truth that they had just done the unthinkable with one another penetrated the air between them, buzzing with an intense, invisible electricity that made Gaston shudder. Struggling to catch her breath, Belle felt her face flush as she pondered the words that she had been goaded to say out loud, and yet it hadn't felt entirely wrong to say them.

Gaston was the first to look away. His shaky elbows buckled from supporting his weight, and he collapsed atop Belle, unabashedly burying his face into the crook of her neck. No words were said; it seemed, to Belle, that none were needed. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his back and held him against her, lightly stroking his hair as he calmed against her, feeling the tense muscles of his shoulders loosen.

Gaston had forgotten how good sex could really be; his experience with Belle may have even been the best intercourse of his life. The usual dark, negative thoughts that plagued Gaston's mind on a daily basis seemed to have subsided during their lovemaking, but once it was over and done with, they began pushing on his consciousness again. The tears that never came caused an ache behind his tired eyes.

When Belle came down at last, recovered from the strength of her climax, her fatigued body sank heavily into the plushness of the bed, and she felt an odd coolness on her cheeks; touching her fingertips to the unexpected wetness there, she was shocked to find that she was crying.

–

 **So sorry for the late chapter, this one was definitely the most difficult to write and I had to get it just right. I hope it was worth the wait. ;-) We only have a few left. Thanks for all the reviews, y'all~!**


	17. Chapter 17

"Why did you do it?"

His voice was quiet and groggy.

Belle lifted her head to look at Gaston. "Why did I do what?"

"Why did you agree to be my wife for this weekend?"

They were intertwined on Gaston's bed, basking in the afterglow– if one could call it that. Gaston had managed to pass out atop Belle while she absentmindedly stroked his hair in the aftermath of their indiscretion, until she eventually dozed off as well; she awoke only minutes later to find that they were snuggling, with Belle wrapped up in Gaston's unconscious embrace. He also came to shortly thereafter, and they had lain there in uncomfortable, confused silence until Gaston broke the tension in the air with his question.

Belle shrugged and laid her head back down on Gaston's chest. "I needed my job back."

He inhaled and exhaled. "But I mean, why didn't you just try to get a job somewhere else? If I was really so horrible to you, why didn't you take your chance to leave?"

Belle could feel Gaston's low voice rumble through his ribs alongside the steady rise and fall of his lungs. She gingerly ran her fingers through the dark, curly hairs covering his pecs.

The young woman let out a sigh. "My mother passed away from cancer when I was a teenager. So it's just me and my Papa; he's brilliant, but he's too old to work. And… we're in debt. I couldn't take the risk. If I couldn't find another job in time, we'd lose our apartment."

Belle swallowed thickly. "We'd lose _everything_."

A beat passed between them.

"I didn't know," Gaston muttered stupidly, unsure of what to say. Belle shook her head in response.

"It's not your fault."

Peeling herself off of Gaston, Belle raised herself up to sit, unwrapping her legs from around his and holding the blanket to her chest. She seemed to be hesitating to ask him something as she fidgeted with some locks of her mussed hair that was still somehow styled half-up, causing Gaston to sit up straighter on the bed, his attention piqued.

"What is it?" he asked.

Belle gazed at the burly man sympathetically from beneath her dark lashes. Her rosy lips puckered with nervousness. "What happened? To your parents, I mean."

Gaston sighed, crossing his legs and leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, staring at his fingers. His muscles rippled as he moved. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, willing the words to come. If he was ever going to tell her, now would be the time.

"We were on our way back from NYU... My parents had come down to the city to bring me home for the winter break. My dad was driving. We were halfway there, when we were hit…" Gaston paused, struggling to find his voice.

"We were hit... by a drunk driver."

Belle gasped, covering her mouth with a hand in horror.

"I don't remember much about the accident itself. The last thing I remember is my mom turning around in the front seat to ask me something… then everything is black. I was told later that we were hit broadside, and the car rolled multiple times. Next thing I knew, I was waking up in the hospital with a few broken ribs and Madame telling me that my parents didn't make it."

Belle thought of the drive upstate they had taken only the day before, and how unusually quiet he had been, and all the pieces seemed to click into place. It must've been the same drive Gaston and his parents were taking when they were hit.

"God, Gaston, I'm so sorry." She placed a tender, reassuring hand on his thigh.

"They were the best parents anyone could ask for," Gaston continued, the heated words spilling from his mouth like a waterfall, his hushed voice thick with emotion despite his best attempts to appear unaffected. "They taught me right from wrong. But when they died, I thought, 'What's the point?' Forget all the niceties, the formalities, the selflessness. My parents were the kindest, most generous people who'd ever existed– if such a horrible thing could happen to them, then what was the point of _any of this?_ Why was I allowed to live, while they were dead?"

Gaston closed his eyes. Belle felt her own begin to dampen with fresh tears: He blamed himself. It only made the young woman pity him more.

"I shut down. I was angry for a long time. Sometimes, I still am. When I come up here, to my old home, I feel like a kid again. I can almost pretend that they still live there. That they're just away on another one of their mission trips, and they'll be back soon."

He ran a shaky palm over his loose hair to push it back away from his face.

"But that was a long time ago. No point dwelling on the past."

Belle bit her lip. "You said… you went to NYU?"

Gaston nodded. "I dropped out with one semester left. After the funeral was over I spent a lot of time just moping around the house, shut away from the outside world. I had Monsieur turn away any visitors at that door. After awhile, people just stopped trying. I spent a lot of time hunting on the property and caring for my horse. I went on like that for about a year."

Gaston leaned back against the headboard then, interlocking his fingers behind his head. His tone was surprisingly casual, but Belle could sense the dark feelings simmering beneath the surface.

"Then one day, I decided to move on as if nothing had ever happened. Got a job and an apartment in the city. Quickly moved up the corporate ladder and now I'm here."

"I really am sorry," Belle offered, giving his leg another squeeze. Her heart panged with sadness; the urge to comfort him from earlier still had not subsided. She wasn't sure what she could do to help.

"You're the first person I've brought up here since they died. I always thought–" Gaston paused to quickly wipe his eye. "I always thought that the first girl I'd bring home would be… nevermind."

The black-haired man paused and inhaled sharply through his nose.

"Anyway, I'm sorry,"

Belle blinked a few times, puzzled. "Sorry for what?"

"For everything. I've been horrendous to you, and I know I have. There's no excuse for it. I… hope you can forgive me."

The look in Gaston's blue eyes was sincere and it made Belle's heart skip a beat. Never in a million years did she ever imagine that Gaston would apologize for anything– and mean it. She offered him a genuine smile in return.

"I honestly thought I was going to have to spend all weekend fighting you off," she laughed.

Gaston cracked a grin. "Do you want to fight me off now?"

Belle chuckled. "No."

"Can I kiss you?"

Rather than give him an answer, Belle leaned forward and connected her lips with his, shocked by her own boldness but pleased with the taste of Gaston as he reciprocated, kissing her back softly. Just as the kiss began to escalate, causing the butterflies to return to Belle's stomach, Gaston pulled away.

"I want to pretend you're my wife for a little while longer."

Taking her by the hand, Gaston stood and led Belle to the bathroom. He moved to start the faucet of the large marble tub, which filled quickly with hot water that thickened the atmosphere of the room with steam.

Gesturing for Belle to get in, she did so, awkwardly half-covering her nakedness with her arms as she slid into the tub, leaning back. The warmth of the water felt heavenly.

Seated behind her, Belle could hear Gaston reach for something, and within moments she felt the foamy texture of a lathered-up loofah being rubbed against her back. It smelled musky and greem, like Irish Spring.

"Is this how you treat your wife?" Belle laughed. "She'll be a very lucky woman someday."

Gaston didn't reply, but continued to scrub her shoulders in gentle strokes and swirls.

"So everything is going to go back to the way it was on Monday, huh?" Belle mused, breaking the silence; her buzz had waned considerably since earlier in the evening, and she was beginning to feel out of place being nude with Gaston in his bathroom as he washed her. Gaston didn't say anything in turn.

Belle's voice lowered as reality came creeping into her thoughts: "What's going to happen tomorrow?"

Again, Gaston didn't reply, but continued to wash her back. Belle twisted her upper body, looking over her shoulder to face him.

"Let me in." Her voice was comforting, yet pleading. "Don't shut me out."

Gaston shook his head, his eyes fearful, his black waves falling like threads of silk around his shoulders. "I can't get close to anyone. I can't lose anyone like that again."

"You won't," Belle whispered, reaching up to press her warm, wet palm to his cheek.

Then, on an impulse, Gaston climbed into the tub, the water level rising with the added volume of his bulky body, causing it to overflow over the edges as he lowered himself into it. Seating himself across from Belle, he pulled the startled woman forward into his lap and kissed her, working his hand beneath the water to pleasure her, eliciting a moan from between her parted lips. Within seconds she was ready again.

Guiding her hips with his massive hands, Gaston slipped himself inside Belle, kissing her as he did so, swallowing her noise with his mouth. The water enveloping them sloshed around the tub as he moved her up and down on him, both of them moaning in unison from the sensation.

Sex with Gaston was different. It felt deeper, more intense, as though they were connected by an invisible force that Belle hadn't noticed until now.

Even through the fog of pleasure clouding her mind, Belle was sure of one thing: She never wanted this night to end.

–

 **You guys, I can't even apologize for how long it's been! But there's only a couple chapters left from here and I'm almost done moving apartments, so hopefully I can get everything finished within the next couple weeks. :)**


	18. Chapter 18

Belle awoke slowly, blinking her tired brown eyes once or twice to adjust to the light.

The events of the previous night filled her memories, replaying in her mind like a movie: She and Gaston had made love, and she wasn't nearly as disgusted with herself as she thought she would be. In fact, she wasn't disgusted at all: The entire thing had actually been quite wonderful, and it filled Belle with a warm, fuzzy feeling to think of Gaston now, compared to the wave of dread that used to chill her blood whenever he was around.

Although the agenda for the day was unknown, Belle had a feeling she could persuade Gaston to partake in another round in that incredible bathtub after breakfast. The idea made her giddy and she felt her body begin to heat up all over again.

Humming contentedly, Belle languidly stretched her sore limbs, spreading out in the bed; it was then that she realized the absence of another body beside her.

Raising herself up and pushing her chestnut tresses out of her face, Belle could see that she was indeed alone in Gaston's bed. She reached a hand out to the emptiness beside her, confusion washing over her body like a rough tide, suddenly feeling very alert and awake.

She glanced around the room; the dress, which she had regrettably left in a heap on the floor he previous night, had been carefully hung up in the corner of the room by someone while she slept. Belle could either put on the gown, or find some of Gaston's clothes to wear to make herself decent enough to leave the room.

She opted for the latter.

—

"Oh, Monsieur!" Belle greeted, her voice jovial but concerned as she entered the kitchen, tugging on the oversized basketball shorts she had found to keep them up on her hips. Even if they slipped, the t-shirt she had donned was easily big enough to double as a nightgown. Despite being too large for her petite frame, Gaston's clothes were surprisingly comfy.

Belle noticed the room was devoid of life, save for herself and the old man. "Where's Gaston?"

The corners of Monsieur's lips dipped downward slightly in a frown as he gazed at her from the bistro table; he seemed to be cleaning up the remnants of a breakfast that Belle had not been invited to. "Master Gaston has gone out for a ride. He will not return for some time."

Monsieur sighed then, his shoulders drooping. "And… he has instructed me to send you home."

Belle froze.

"What?" It was more an expression of disbelief than an actual question. Belle could only stare at Monsieur in awe, as if this was all some elaborate practical joke; she half-expected Gaston to come waltzing through the door any minute to have a good laugh at her expense. The elderly man looked incredibly guilty, his mouth pressed into a thin line and trembling a little.

"I've already called you a cab. You're going back to the city. Today."

"Without Gaston?"

Monsieur stiffly nodded his head, confirming her deepest fear, causing her heart to sink: Gaston had played her. Like the Devil plays a fiddle. It made her gut clench with nausea.

She should've known better. No– she _had_ known better, and yet she had went along willingly anyway. How many women had fallen for Gaston's sob story and pitied him enough to sleep with him? Belle was sure now that she wasn't the first. Hell, his parents were probably still alive somewhere; maybe relaxing on a beach in Boca Raton, sipping piña coladas.

He had dressed her in fine clothes and jewelry, liquored her up, and then taken what he wanted from her.

A tiny, logical voice in the back of Belle's head tried to tell her that it wasn't so, that there must be an explanation for the connection they had shared, that she hadn't just been imagining it, that this newfound emotion wasn't one-sided, and that Gaston was pushing her away as a defense mechanism.

 _You're a smart girl,_ the voice squeaked, trying to reason with her greater psyche. _He didn't force you to drink as much as you did. He didn't force you into his bed. You agreed to this. All of this. You wanted it, and so did he._

It was then that Belle's own defense mechanism kicked in, silencing the tiny voice with the truth she had known about Gaston all along: That he was a manipulative, selfish pig. He wouldn't change; not for her, not for anyone.

And she chose to believe it. It would hurt less this way, anyway.

The whole thing made her feel utterly used, but more than that, she was _angry_. Whether she was angry with herself or Gaston, she couldn't be sure– but she'd be damned if she didn't subject him to her fury.

Belle scoffed then, eyes stinging, tilting her chin upward indignantly. "You said he went riding?"

Before Monsieur could stop her, the irate young woman stormed towards the back door and threw it open as mightily as she could manage, stomping outside with purpose. The sky was cloudy and threatened rain; the spring air had cooled considerably, raising goosebumps on Belle's exposed flesh. She went straight for the stables at the back of the property, with Monsieur following closely behind her, shouting all the way.

Gaston may have only seen her as a booty call, just another "lady of the evening," but Belle wasn't going to be dismissed as easily as one. She deserved respect and a proper explanation.

"Miss! Miss, please!"

Monsieur was hobbling after the enraged woman as quickly as his lanky legs could carry him, but it was only when his breaths turned to wheezes that Belle felt guilty enough to stop for him, just short of the barn.

When he finally caught up with her, the old man jabbed his hand forward, in which he clasped a plain white envelope.

"I was instructed… to give you... this… before you go."

With quick hands, Belle took the envelope from him and opened it, pulling out the check within. It was signed and dated in Gaston's recognizable scrawl, and the four-figure amount written in the little white box was nearly enough to pay off the entirety of her father's debt immediately.

Seeing what she was worth to him– on paper, in black-and-white– made her eyes burn.

Looking inside the envelope, she found nothing else. No letter, no note– not even a measly scrap of paper with "goodbye" written on it.

"He has told me to assure you that your job is secured," Monsieur explained, clearly desperate for Belle to calm down; she was risking his own job security by being unorderly, and it made Belle feel even more guilty. "And you've been given a raise. Effective immediately."

Belle stared at the check in her hands; her vision blurred.

"Now, why don't we go back and I can make you a quick breakfast before you leave? You must be absolutely famished." The old man's own voice was thick with a sadness he tried to hide.

Belle wasn't very hungry, but she accepted the fact that whatever _this_ was, it was over. Swallowing back the urge to cry, she only nodded, giving in to giving up, and allowed Monsieur to escort her back to the house to pack her things.

 _It's just business._

—

"Here," Belle offered, opening her fist over Monsieur's outstretched palm, releasing the brass padlock key into his possession. "You can tell him I didn't open it."

Monsieur's eyes widened, as if he recognized the key and its significance, but only nodded solemnly.

"Thank you, Miss."

Belle shook her head and looked at her feet. "No need to thank me. It wasn't mine, anyway."

She brought her eyes up then, contorting her facial features into the best version of an expression of gratitude she could muster without losing control of her emotions: "Thank you for everything."

Monsieur could only nod.

Belle didn't even bother to take one last look over her shoulder at the house as she crossed the driveway to the waiting taxi and threw open the door, once again wearing her dirty sneakers, faded blue jeans, and blood-stained sweatshirt. It was a far cry from the finery she had been privileged enough to wear only hours before.

Once seated, the car kicked into drive and pulled away with the sound of rubber tires crunching over gravel, heading south towards New York City. When they were out of sight of Gaston's lodge, Belle pulled out her phone and punched in a simple text message:

 _You're a bastard._

She hit "send" before she could change her mind, then threw her phone down onto the seat beside her, leaning her forehead against the window and allowing the tears to come.

—

Monsieur knocked softly on Gaston's door.

"Master Gaston?"

The man inside sniffed. "Is she gone?"

"Yes," Monsieur paused, unsure of what to say next. He wanted to offer some advice or words of wisdom to the young man he had been serving since he was a child, but his professionalism and dedication to his work prohibited him from overstepping any personal boundaries.

"Is there... anything I can get for you?" the elderly man offered after a moment of contemplation.

"No," Gaston replied, his voice muffled by the barrier between them. "Leave me in peace."

Although Gaston couldn't see the gesture, Monsieur bowed and nodded before hesitating to leave; taking the key out of his pocket, he bent down and slid it under the door before reluctantly heading down the hall, away from his master's chambers, but not before he heard the sound of a sob come from within.


	19. Chapter 19

Monday morning came about with a certain sense of doom.

Belle awoke earlier than usual after hardly sleeping through the night. When she had arrived home the previous day, the sight of her father boiling noodles on the stovetop for their evening meal had caused her to burst into tears, the last thread of her resolve snapping after holding it in for the entire trip downstate. Maurice held his daughter and comforted her while she cried it out, never once probing or asking what was wrong, but just let her cry. For that, Belle was thankful for her Papa. After going to bed late, and after repeatedly reassuring her father that she was fine, she cried on and off in dark silence for hours, until the digital alarm clock next her bed read _3:58_ and she could cry no more.

She got to the office so early that even the bimbo twins hadn't yet arrived to terrorize her. However, the few people that were there starting their day seemed surprised to see Belle as she strolled across the floor, fists pumping at her sides, heading straight for Gaston's office. The white button-up blouse that clothed her torso strained with every heaving breath she took, and her ponytail swung back-and-forth from the force of her steps. She found that the comfortable black slacks she was wearing made it much easier to walk with purpose, as opposed to a skirt.

After a long night of battling with herself, Belle had decided to go with what she felt in her heart; she wasn't going to give up on Gaston so easily. She could tell that he needed her, and maybe, just _maybe_ she wanted to be with him as well. Even if she was wrong on all accounts, he still needed to own up to his actions and give her an explanation for his behavior– it was the least he could do, and she deserved it after everything he had put her through.

Without hesitation, Belle threw open the door to Gaston's office and stormed into it.

"Gaston, you owe me answers and I am not leaving until–"

Belle stopped dead in her tracks when she realized that the man behind the desk was not Gaston. Not only that, but she noticed in that moment that the office was bare. The trophies, the taxidermied animal heads, the oversized desk chair– everything was gone.

"Oh," Belle uttered in surprise upon seeing the older man with graying hair. "You're not Gaston."

The lanky, olive-skinned man turned to Belle and pursed his lips, scanning her up and down before revealing his crooked teeth.

"Ah, you must be Belle," the stranger said with cognizance, his eyes widening slightly. "Just the woman I wanted to see."

"I'm sorry," Belle replied, wary. Something about the strange man made her queasy. "Do I know you?"

The man chortled. His voice was deep, even deeper than Gaston's, and raspy. "No, I believe you don't. I'm Mr. D'Arque. I'm the President of the fiction division here at the company. We specialize in publishing novels like yours."

"Like mine?" The young woman raised an eyebrow.

Mr. D'Arque straightened the lapels of his dark brown suit jacket. Reaching a hand inside, he pulled out a small book, and dropped it on the desk before him. Belle recognized it immediately.

"My notebook," she breathed. She had been so emotional after everything that happened that she hadn't even thought of it until now; it must've been left behind at Gaston's lodge.

"Imagine my surprise when _this_ was dropped off at my house last night," Mr. D'Arque mused, tapping his thin fingers on the cover. "He _insisted_ that I read it right away, and I did. It's quite impressive."

Gaston had stolen her manuscript and sent it to the guy in charge of publishing. Belle wasn't sure if she should feel violated or grateful.

"It's not finished," Belle said hastily. Her body had begun to flush at his subtle praise.

The man chortled again. "I can tell. But once it _is_ finished, I believe we can work out a deal."

Belle felt the blood drain from her face and she swayed on her feet. "You mean… like a publishing deal?"

The man smiled and cocked his head, shooting her a look that said, " _What else could I possibly mean?_ "

Mr. D'Arque circled the desk, picking up the notebook and holding it out to Belle as he moved closer to her. She took it from him with unsteady hands.

"In the meantime, you will no longer be working for Men's Day. You've been referred for a better position at my branch of the company. Better benefits, bigger cubicle, an annual salary– the whole package."

"I'm being promoted?" Belle thought she might faint at any second. This was all was too much to be happening so early in the morning.

"Do you accept?"

"Of course. I mean, yes," Belle replied, nodding quickly. "Th-thank you very much, sir."

Glancing around, Belle swallowed the lump in her throat, daring to ask the question at the forefront of her thoughts, although she was afraid that she already knew the answer.

"Where is Gaston?"

Mr. D'Arque's expressionless face was cold. "He quit. Resigned this morning."

Belle nodded her understanding and stared down at her old, worn flats. Luckily, she had no more tears left to shed. If Gaston was going to such great lengths to avoid her, then Belle had no option but to face the music; anything she'd imagined between them was merely her own fantasy and nothing more. It wasn't real. He had won their little game in the end after all. She'd have to make peace with her mistake and move on with her life.

"We'll discuss more later," Mr. D'Arque promised, leading the young woman to the door. "Feel free to collect your things and take the day off. I'll be in touch."

On her way out of the office, Belle passed Adam in the hallway. She offered him a polite smile as she walked by, noticing a fresh shiner around the handsome blonde's left eye and a bright red gash on his right cheekbone that was still slowly oozing blood. He looked like he recently lost a fight. Upon seeing her Adam let out a squeal of fright, turned, and dashed in the opposite direction, only adding to Belle's confusion for the way her day was going.

When Belle reached her cubicle, ready with an empty box to pack up her things, she was unpleasantly surprised to see Paulette waiting for her, looking as though she may cry.

"Fired again?" the woman sneered in a shrill, broken voice that betrayed her emotions, her red-rimmed eyes darting to the cardboard box in Belle's arms.

"Promoted, actually," Belle responded, clearly not in the mood for conversation. "What is it now, Paulette?"

"What did you do to Gaston?" she seethed, arms crossed tightly over her yellow swing dress, the skirt of which was splattered with blotchy coffee stains. Her petite nose twitched in annoyance, which– judging by the unnaturally perfect shape of it– had obviously gone under the knife at some point. "I called him last night, and he– he– the things he said to me…"

Hot tears began streaming down Paulette's face, tinted by her smudged eye makeup, as she focused on a spot on the wall behind Belle. She brought her fingers up to her mouth and began anxiously chewing on her nails, which appeared destroyed, as though she had ripped off her acrylics in a bout of insanity. Belle almost pitied the woman; she seemed to be in the midst of a mental breakdown.

Stepping around her shaking form, Belle hurriedly threw a few things from her desk into the box before awkwardly patting Paulette on the shoulder.

"Well, it's been nice knowing you, Paulette," Belle politely lied. The blonde woman didn't even seem to register her words, but only continued trembling where she stood as Belle brushed past her.

When Belle approached the elevators at the end of the floor, she mustered up the courage to take one last look across the way at Gaston's office. Images of the night they had spent together flashed through her mind, alongside the memories of all the times he had harassed and belittled her in this very building, and Belle had to shake her head to clear the thoughts away, pushing them to the back of her consciousness and willing them to be locked away and forgotten.

The light above the elevator pinged the arrival of the car, and when the doors opened, Belle turned and stepped through them, doing her best to ignore the sound of Paulette's wail echoing through the air as the doors closed behind her, signaling the official end of her time with Gaston.

–

 **One more chapter!**


	20. Chapter 20

"Here's that manuscript from downstairs. Did you still want to push back your two o'clock meeting tomorrow?"

"Two o'clock is fine. Thank you, Philippe," Belle smiled warmly and took the fat stack of papers from her sandy-haired assistant. He was young, a few years younger than Belle, and still in college, but he labored like a workhorse; when Belle, as editor-in-chief, was ready to hire an assistant, he had begged her for the chance to prove himself, and he had yet to disappoint her. She really couldn't ask for a better helping hand around the office.

"Also, I thought you'd like to see this," Philippe piped up, handing his boss a piece of paper. It was a print-out of the latest New York Times Best Sellers list, where Belle's own novel had been bumped up one spot closer to the top.

It had been nearly four months since her weekend with Gaston. That was also the last time she'd seen or heard from him. Since then, she had successfully written off sleeping with him as a drunken, one-time mistake, and one that she wasn't too keen to repeat; she deleted his number from her phone and had shortly afterward re-entered the dating world with a newfound confidence. However, there was still the occasional night where she'd toss and turn, dreaming of him and wondering what lingered down below, in the recesses of her heart. She tried not to dwell on the feelings whenever they popped up.

After having her book published to critical success and being promoted even further within the company after proving herself, Belle was now head of her entire division, overseeing all employees and working just under Mr. D'Arque himself (who proved to be a much more professional boss than Gaston ever was). It was a demanding job, but as the boss she was able to manage her own schedule, allowing herself plenty of time to write on the side. The pay grade increase was a blessing as well, and for the first time in Belle's life she was able to go on what Paulette had always referred to as a "shopping spree" to buy new wardrobes for both herself and her father. On this particular day she was wearing a pinstriped navy-blue pencil skirt with matching jacket and a crisp white blouse underneath; her long brown hair was hanging loose and curled, and she had even started wearing high heels and a little makeup on a daily basis. Some mascara and lip gloss only served to enhance her already stunning natural beauty, and the heels helped her feel powerful and in charge. On her wrist was a stainless steel watch with a black face and white hands to top off the ensemble.

If Gaston had ever been right about anything, it was the fact that she really was ravishing when she "cleaned up."

Belle smiled once more at her young assistant, taking the piece of paper from him. "Thank you."

Philippe shot her a toothy grin back. "Can I get you anything else at the moment?"

Belle glanced at her watch. It was four o'clock on a Friday in early August.

"Nah," the brown-haired woman shook her head. "Go home. Do something fun."

Excited at the prospect of starting the weekend early, Philippe thanked her before speedily jogging off to collect his things. Everyone else had already left for the week as well, leaving Belle alone in the office; she considered heading home, to her and Maurice's new apartment– which came complete with plenty of hot water whenever she took a shower– but decided to spend the last hour of the day working on her next novel instead.

Upon opening the door to her office, Belle could tell immediately that something was amiss, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end. She glanced to her right, noticing a giant bouquet of red roses in a vase on her desk that hadn't been there before. Cocking her head in curiosity, Belle walked over and cautiously picked up the card that had been stuck in the center of the arrangement.

On it, in a simple cursive font, was the word " _Congratulations_ " printed in black ink. When she flipped it over, there was no message on the back, nor any information about who the sender could be.

Abruptly, the door to her office slammed shut with a _boom_ , rattling the objects on Belle's desk and causing her to jump and scream in fright.

Whipping around, Belle's heart shot into her throat when she locked eyes with a muscular, dark-haired man in a casual red button-up and charcoal jeans from across the room.

"Gaston?" she breathed, half in disbelief and half in annoyance. "You scared the _shit_ out of me."

"Yeah, sorry," Gaston mumbled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. "Didn't mean to scare you. I guess I don't know my own strength."

He flashed her a cheeky smile, and Belle felt the hibernating butterflies in her stomach begin to warm and awaken, tentatively flapping their battered wings.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, crossing her arms and holding her palms to her upper arms to protect herself, all the pent-up emotions from the last time they were together rushing to the forefront of her brain.

"I read your book," Gaston stated. "You changed the ending."

Belle swallowed hard. "I did."

It was true; her protagonist had gone from originally killing her abuser in the end, to being outed as an unreliable narrator who kills her "abuser" in her mind and falls in love with the man beneath after getting to know him on their date. The entire plot of poisoning him had been nothing more than the narrator's fantasy all along. Truly, it wasn't too far off from Belle's own experience.

Gaston's blue eyes glittered in the late-afternoon light. "Why?"

Belle shrugged and gazed out the window, towards the Hudson River. "Change of heart, I suppose."

A moment of silence passed between them.

"Why are you here?" she asked again, turning back to face her ex-lover and rubbing her arms anxiously.

The man lifted and dropped his beefy shoulders. "Belle, I don't know where to begin..."

"An apology would be a good start," Belle snapped, cutting him off. She had to bite her lip to hold back a sob. Her eyes were burning with the tears that threatened to come. "You kick me out after the night we had, without so much as a 'goodbye,' I don't hear from you for months, and then you _just show up at my office out of the blue?_ "

Her voice had begun to shake and she was losing her composure. If she had believed that she was over him, Belle was finding quickly that she was wrong.

"I didn't mean to," Gaston muttered sheepishly. Belle shot him a look of daggers that made the burly man wince. He held up both hands, palms forward, in a peacekeeping gesture.

"Let me explain?"

Warily, Belle nodded. Gaston nodded in return.

"Growing up with wealthy parents, being the star athlete, the center of attention in my family and all of our social circles, I guess it does something to a kid." Gaston's tone was full of regret. He took a step towards Belle, and then another, until they were nearly toe-to-toe.

"I was a brat. I still am. But my parents always did their best to try to understand me. Then when they died, no one dared to tell me no, that I couldn't say or do something I wanted to do. Nobody else ever tried to understand me after my parents– except you."

Gaston dared to reach out and cradle her face in his massive palm then, brushing away a tear that had managed to spill over onto her porcelain cheek with the pad of his thumb.

"After you left– I mean, after I sent you away, I cried. For the first time in ten years. I felt so… weak. Vulnerable. I haven't felt like that in a long, _long_ time. I didn't even remember what that kind of emotion was like. It sucked."

Gaston inhaled a shaky breath. "So, I did something I should have done forever ago. I... started seeing a therapist."

Belle's lips parted in surprise at the revelation.

"And I've re-enrolled in classes at NYU. I think I want to be a horse veterinarian," Gaston shifted uneasily on his feet, glancing away before locking eyes with Belle once more, sighing. "You want someone to love, and I need someone to love me. I want to be good enough for you, and I promise I am going to keep working on becoming a better man, but I can't promise it will be easy. I still have a lot of baggage. I'm going to mess up sometimes, and I'm probably still going to lash out in unhealthy, self-destructive ways. But I know you won't give up on me, and that's the most amazing feeling."

Belle was silent for a moment, her chest heaving with her increased breathing, absorbing all of Gaston's words and letting them sink into her psyche.

"Is this a trick?" Belle asked fearfully at last. Her heart beat madly against her ribcage.

A single teardrop slipped down Gaston's own cheek and he hurriedly wiped it away. "It's not a trick. I should have never pushed you away. I should have let you in."

Letting his hand fall from her face, Gaston pulled back from Belle, but not without some difficulty. "I have something for you. Close your eyes."

Belle reluctantly did as she was told, as Gaston fidgeted around for something with the clanking of metal.

"Okay… open them."

When Belle's brown eyes opened, she could see that Gaston was now holding the tin box; the same one from under his bed. In his other hand was the key. He held it out to her.

Belle tentatively took the key and grasped the padlock, turning the key in the lock with a _click_ that caused the padlock to pop loose.

Inside the box was empty, save for a small, royal-colored velvet trinket box. With trembling fingers, Belle carefully lifted the miniature box and opened it, clamshell-style, to reveal a beautiful art deco ring inside, set in gold with a flawless, faceted emerald as the centerpiece that glittered like a tiny chandelier in the sunlight. It was a breathtaking piece of jewelry.

"It was my mother's," Gaston explained. "Given to her by my father. It's the most valuable thing I own. I want you to wear it. Would you… be my wife? For real, this time."

After a few moments of contemplation, turning the piece over in her hands, watching how the fractals of light danced across the wall, Belle at last smiled sadly at him: "No."

Gaston inhaled and stopped. He blinked; once, twice, then three times.

"Wait, did you just say no?"

"Yes."

"You said yes?"

"No, I said no."

Gaston scrunched his face. "This isn't really how I pictured this going."

Taking one last look at the ring in her hands, Belle gently shut the box and handed it back to Gaston, who swallowed heavily.

"My answer is no."

Biting his lip but nodding his understanding, Gaston exhaled a gush of air and smoothed his hair back with a clammy hand, accepting that he had missed his chance. He felt the tears prick at his lashes and had to look at the floor to avoid letting Belle see how much her rejection affected him.

"But, maybe, if you wanted to ask me out to dinner, and talk about things… about _us_... I'd say 'yes' to that."

Gaston's eyes whipped up to meet Belle's at the realization of the meaning behind her words, his wide blue irises sparkling wetly. Belle let out an amused laugh at his reaction and another tear slipped down her cheek, her face flushing pink with the terrifying relief of opening herself up to give Gaston another chance; it was an exhilarating feeling that tingled from her scalp to her toes.

Without waiting another second, Gaston set the box to the side of Belle's desk and excitedly scooped her up in his arms, swinging her around. The small woman laughed again, delightedly this time, and the sound tinkled in Gaston's ears like music. When he set her back on her feet, Belle was smiling at him, snaking her arms around his neck and burying her lithe fingers in his tresses. Overcome with emotion, Gaston pulled Belle forward for a kiss, and she reciprocated passionately, finally feeling sure that the love they shared was really real.

–

 **I ACTUALLY FINISHED IT. AAAHHHH! Thank you all for sticking by me through this story. I'm really glad with how it turned out although I do sense a rewrite in the future (there's a few scenes I want to elaborate on and some new ones I want to add).**

 **Next I think I'm going to focus on finishing Kaleidoscope. I've reread Like The Tide and I feel like I'm not getting my ideas across as coherently as I could, so that's on hold until I can get in and rewrite most of it. For those of you in the Naruto fandom, I'm planning a KakaSaku fic for next month (hopefully) as well.**

 **For you people who have been waiting** _ **years**_ **for an update– I'M SO SORRY. I've been mulling The Name Of The Game over in my mind for a long time now and it's been haunting me; I originally planned on a sad ending in line with the movie, but I can't bring myself to do it, so I'm stuck… I can either come up with a new ending, or plan a sequel? Idk.**

 **Anyway, if you'd like to follow me for more fandom and updates, I've created a tumblr account: duchess-sophie**

 **Love you all~!**


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